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DELIA  BACON 


A   BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


"  What  a  wounded  name, 
Things  standing  thus  unknown,  shall  live  behind  me ! 
If  thou  didst  ever  hold  me  in  thy  heart, 
Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile, 
And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in  pain, 
To  tell  my  story." 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


Copyright,  1888, 
By  THEODORE  BACON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  •• 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  11.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


AN  ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 


The  letters  written  by  the  subject  of  this  vol- 
ume to  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  were,  at  the  cost  of 
diligent  search,  found  by  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Rose 
Hawthorne  Lathrop,  carefully  preserved  among 
his  papers,  and  were  entrusted  to  me  for  the  use 
which  has  now  been  made  of  them.  The  over- 
sight by  which  this  helpful  service  failed  to  be 
mentioned  in  a  marginal  note  in  the  body  of  the 
book  is  the  less  regretted  that  it  has  given  occa- 
sion for  this  more  conspicuous  acknowledgment, 
that  Hawthorne's  patient  kindness  to  one  who 
received  so  much  from  him  was  not  exhausted  in 
his  lifetime,  but  passed  by  inheritance  to  the  gen- 
eration that  follows  him. 

THEODORE  BACON. 

Rochester,  N.  Y., 

November  17,  1888. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

An  Acknowledgment ,        ,  iii 

An  Apology  for  this  Book vii 

I.    Parentage  and  Birth 1 

II.    Babyhood    and    Childhood  ;    The    School,    and 

the  Beginning  of  the  Long  Warfare         .  9 

III.  Early  Essays  in  Letters 18 

IV.  The  Instruction  of  Women      .        .'       .        .  23 
V.    A  Sorrow  that  left  its  Shadow        ...  32 

VI.    The  Shakspere  Drama  :    The  Philosophy  con- 
tained   in    it,    and   the    Authorship   needed 

FOR  IT 35 

VII.    Counsel  and  Help  from  Emerson       ...      47 
VIII.    The  Journey  to  England         ....  56 

IX.    At   Work    in    England  :     London,    St,  Albans, 
Hatfield  ;    The  Friendship  of  the  Carlyles  ; 
The  Book  ready  for  a  Publisher    ...      60 
X.    The  "  Putnam  "  Article  :    "  William  Shakspere 

and  his  Plays  :  An  Inquiry  concerning  them."    98 
XI.     Disappointment  and  Perseverance     .        .        .     156 

XII.     News  through  Emerson 161 

XIII.     The  Entrance  of  Ha\vthorne      ....     164 

XIV.     Hawthorne's  Visit 216 

XV.    Sickness  akd  Privation.    The  Flight  to  Strat- 
ford,   The  Book  to  be  Published  at  last     .    235 
XVI.     The  Refuge  in  Stratford.    The  Designs  against 
the   Tomb.    The   Troubles   and   Patience   of 

Hawthorne 247 

XVll.    The  Book  Appears.    Haavthorne's  Preface      .    284 
XVIII.    The  Reception  of  the  Book      ....        296 
XIX.    The   Strained   Bow   Breaks  :    "  Last   Scene  of 

All" 301 

Index 319 


This  is  the  story  of  a  life  that  was  neither 
splendid  in  achievement  or  adventure,  nor  success- 
ful, nor  happy.  It  began  deep  in  a  New  World 
wilderness,  in  the  simplicity  of  a  refined  and  hon- 
ored poverty ;  it  continued  for  almost  fifty  years 
of  labor  and  sorrow,  and  ended  amid  clouds  of 
disappointment  and  distraction.  Neither  the  sub- 
ject of  it,  nor  those  to  whom  in  her  lifetime  she 
was  very  dear  by  ties  of  kindred,  would  easily 
have  consented  that  the  world  should  know  more 
of  her  than  could  be  learned  from  her  gravestone  : 
that  she  was  born,  and  died.  Yet  because  she  was 
of  rare  intellectual  force  and  acuteness,  of  abso- 
lute sincerity  and  truthfulness,  of  self-annihilating 
earnestness  and  devotion  in  whatever  work  she 
entered  upon ;  and  because  the  world  is  deter- 
mined that  it  will  speak  of  her  as  if  it  knew  her, 
supplying  its  lack  of  knowledge  with  conjecture 
or  with  fable,  I  purpose  to  tell  it  something  of 
Delia  Bacon :  of  what  she  was,  from  inheritance 
and  environment ;  and  what  she  did. 


DELIA  BACON. 


I. 

Of  wheat  ancestry  she  may  have  come,  earlier 
than  the  six  generations  through  which  it  is  easy 
to  trace  her  descent  from  an  Enghsh  colonist, 
there  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  ever  asked 
or  greatly  cared.  The  whim  which  some  have 
been  pleased  to  indulge,  that  her  opinions  may 
have  had  their  source  in  some  fancy  that  she  was 
herself  of  common  blood  with  the  greatest  Eng- 
lishman who  had  borne  her  family  name,  is  utterly 
without  substantial  foundation.  Even  less,  while 
she  lived,  was  known  than  can  now  be  told  of  the 
plain  yet  honorable  race  of  which  she  was  born ; 
nor  had  any  one  pretended  to  trace  for  it  a  con- 
nection with  the  great  Norfolk  family  which  had 
become  illustrious  so  shortly  before  the  Puritan 
exodus  began.  Except  so  far,  therefore,  as 
knowledge  of  her  descent  through  two  centuries 
of  New  England  Puritans,  and  pride  in  such  de- 
scent, made  her  so  strong  a  New  Englander  that 
she  brought  to  Elizabethan  English  thought  and 
literature  a  sympathy  keener  and  warmer  than 
that  of  most  Englishmen,  and  in  making  her  such 


2  DELIA   BACON. 

a  New  Englander  gave  direction  to  her  studies  and 
imaginations,  she  received  from  her  family  name 
neither  prepossession  nor  suggestion.  But  as  the 
influences  which  made  her,  unconscious  of  them 
as  she  was,  were  operating  long  before  her  birth, 
something  may  properly  be  told  of  them. 

Within  twenty  years  after  the  first  disastrous 
venture  at  Plymouth,  within  fifteen  after  the 
colony  upon  Massachusetts  Bay  was  begun,  there 
was  living  at  Dedham  in  that  colony,  in  1640, 
one  Michael  Bacon.  He  was  a  man  of  more  than 
ordinary  substance,  and  of  such  social  dignity 
as  was  implied  by  the  rank,  which  he  had  held 
before  his  migration,  of  captain  of  yeomanry. 
From  what  part  of  the  dominions  of  Charles  I.  he 
had  come,  no  one  now  seems  able  to  tell.  His 
first  name,  which  has  not  been  a  common  one  in 
England,  was  repeated  in  several  generations  after 
him,  and  might  afford  a  clue  to  his  English  kin,  if 
it  could  be  assumed  to  have  been  a  family  name 
before  him.  Late  researches,  indeed,  have  dis- 
closed the  fact  that  the  great  Chancellor's  half- 
brother  Edward  had  among  his  many  children  a 
Michael,  born  in  1608;  and  for  a  moment  it  had 
seemed  possible  that  this  younger  son  of  a  younger 
son  might  have  been  the  captain  of  yeomanry 
seeking  better  fortune  in  the  New  World.  But 
when  it  was  discovered  that  the  Lord  Keeper's 
grandson  Michael  died  while  yet  a  child,  even  this 
shadowy  link  of  connection  to  a  great  family,  a 


DELTA   BACON.  3 

link  of  which  Delia  Bacon  never  so  much  as  heard, 
disappeared  in  the  light  of  fact. 

These  Puritan  Bacons  seem  to  have  prospered 
and  contented  themselves  for  several  generations 
in  Dedham,  and  Stoughton,  which  was  a  part  of 
Dedham,  and  Billerica,  and  Woburn,  before  they 
were  set  in  motion  again  by  the  westward  impulse 
of  their  Teuton,  English,  New  England  blood.  In 
1764,  however,  Joseph,  great-great-grandson  of 
the  first  Michael,  went  into  the  wilderness,  and  in 
the  border  town  of  Woodstock,  which  just  in  those 
years  was  passing  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  Massa- 
chusetts into  that  of  Connecticut,  he  married  Abi- 
gail Holmes.  Though  they  lived  a  little  while  in 
Stoughton,  before  1771  they  had  fixed  themselves 
in  Woodstock,  among  the  original  proprietors  of 
which  the  name  of  Holmes  was  found  almost  a 
hundred  years  before.  In  that  absolutely  rural 
community,  containing  in  its  population  (presuma- 
bly of  from  one  to  two  thousand)  no  man,  perhaps, 
who  was  not  a  land-holder  and  a  land-tiller,  not 
excepting  its  parish  minister  of  the  established 
Congregational  order,  its  physician,  and  possibly 
a  general  trader  and  an  artisan  or  two,  there  was, 
nevertheless,  strong  and  high  thinking  with  plain 
living.  There,  in  1761,  was  born  (himself  after- 
ward a  clergyman  of  distinction  and  an  author  of 
merit)  the  father  of  Samuel  Finley  Breese  Morse, 
inventor  and  perfecter  of  the  electric  telegraph. 
There,  in  1763,  was  born  (also  to  become,  in  due 


4  DELIA  BACON. 

time,  an  eminent  divine  and  author)  the  father  of 
OHver  Wendell  Holmes.  And  there,  in  1771,  was 
born  to  Abigail  Holmes  (whose  consanguinity  to 
those  who  have  made  her  maiden  name  famous 
was  not  too  remote  to  be  traceable)  a  son  David, 
the  father  of  Delia  Bacon. 

It  was  an  unsettled  life,  after  all,  into  which  this 
child  David  was  born.  In  several  New  England 
towns  his  parents  lived,  a  while  in  each,  during 
his  childhood  and  youth  ;  not  prosperous  in  busi- 
ness, it  seems,  yet  able  to  train  their  children  with 
such  education  of  mind  as  well  as  of  morals  that 
they  need  not  shrink  from  any  station  into  which 
the  simple  democratic  life  of  those  communities 
might  bring  them.  An  older  son  became  a  physi- 
cian of  great  eminence.  This  one,  becoming  in- 
flamed in  the  last  years  of  the  century  with  that 
fire  of  self-devotion  which  forced  from  the  mis- 
sionary-apostle his  cry  of  "  Woe  is  me  if  I  preach 
not  the  Gospel !  "  set  himself  to  the  work  of  study 
for  such  service,  that  he  might  give  himself  espe- 
cially to  the  instruction  and  civilization  of  the 
Indians  in  the  northwestern  wilderness. 

How  this  laborious  training  went  on :  with  what 
courage,  when  it  was  completed,  this  enthusiast 
confronted  the  perils  of  a  wilderness  as  remote  in 
those  days,  and  almost  as  savage,  as  equatorial 
Africa  is  now :  with  what  fortitude  and  serenity  he 
suffered  hardship  in  many  forms  until  death  took 
him  from  weariness  and  disappointment  long  be- 


DELIA   BACON.  5 

fore  old  age,  it  is  not  necessary  now  to  speak. 
The  story  is  a  beautiful  and  a  moving  one,  but  it 
has  been  fully  written  by  a  competent  filial  hand.^ 

At  the  beginning  of  this  century  the  interior  of 
America,  from  the  Hudson  River  westward,  was 
almost  an  untried  wilderness.  There  were,  it  is 
true,  the  ancient  Dutch  settlements  along  the 
Mohawk ;  and  some  rich  valleys  of  eastern  New 
York  had  received  the  first  touches  of  colonization. 
But  beyond  were  unknown  wilds,  except  that  the 
great  lakes  and  rivers  had  been  rudely  mapped. 
A  hundred  years  before,  indeed,  the  wise  fore- 
thought of  French  military  statesmen  had  estab- 
lished a  trading  post  and  fort  on  the  strait  be- 
tween Lakes  Huron  and  Erie,  which  was  to  be  one 
in  the  chain  of  strongholds  from  the  St.  LaAvrence 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  by  which  English  power  on 
this  continent  was  to  be  restrained.  That  post, 
now  the  splendid  city  of  Detroit,  in  1801  held  a 
motley  population  of  a  few  hundred.  But  at 
"Buffalo  Creek"  this  young  missionary,  waiting 
for  days  for  a  vessel  to  take  him  westward,  found 
nothing  but  an  encampment  of  savages  on  the  site 
of  the  great  city  of  Buffalo,  which  now  numbers 
almost  a  quarter  of  a  million  inhabitants. 

There  at  Detroit,  at  the  even  remoter  post  of 
Mackinac,  upon  the  Maumee  River,  and  else- 
where, for  five  years  the  Connecticut  evangelist 
struggled  in  competition  with  the  frontier  rum- 

^  Sketch  of  the  Rev.  David  Bacon.  By  Leonard  Bacon,  D.  D., 
LL.  D.     Boston  :  Consxresational  Board  of  Publication.     1876. 


6  DELIA   BACON. 

sellers  for  some  effectual  influence  upon  a  wild 
and  violent  race,  with  which  communication  was 
enormously  difficult  from  diversity  of  language. 
With  him  he  had  taken  his  young  wife,  a  delicate 
girl  of  eighteen,  whose  refined  and  gentle  dignity 
in  old  age  there  are  some  who  remember  still. 
Children  had  already  come  to  them  when,  chang- 
ing somewhat  his  earliest  plan,  but  still  devoted  to 
the  spread  of  the  religion  of  which  he  was  a  min- 
ister, he  determined,  leaving  the  employment  of 
the  Connecticut  Missionary  Society,  to  establish  in 
the  Ohio  woods  a  colony  of  New  England  men, 
after  the  New  England  type. 

From  east  to  west,  across  the  northern  part  of 
what  is  now  the  State  of  Ohio,  stretches  the  belt 
of  land  which,  included  between  the  north  and 
south  lines  of  the  colony  of  Connecticut  prolonged 
westwardly,  was  within  the  terms  of  the  original 
ro}' al  grant  to  that  colony  ;  for  that  grant  was  lim- 
ited on  the  west  only  by  "  the  South  Sea."  The 
sovereignty  which  by  virtue  of  this  grant  was 
asserted  by  the  colony  was,  upon  the  establish- 
ment of  a  national  government,  ceded  to  it  by  the 
State  ;  but  proprietary  rights  were  reserved,  and 
the  tract  to  which  they  attached  was  long  after- 
ward known  indifferently  as  "  New  Connecticut," 
or  the  "  Western  Reserve."  In  this  region,  then 
a  dense  and  almost  unbroken  forest,  the  adventur- 
ous missionary  chose  for  his  new  enterprise  a  tract 
of  five  miles  square,  some  thirty  miles  south  of 
the  point  where  now  the  great  city  of  Cleveland 


DELIA   BACON.  7 

looks  out  upon  Lake  Erie  ;  and  there,  having  him- 
self laid  out  with  eminent  skill  and  judgment  the 
roads  and  public  places  of  the  future  community, 
he  built  of  logs  the  Httle  cabin  which  was  its  first 
house,  and  established  in  it  his  household. 

In  this  town  of  Tallmadge,  in  the  log  cabin  which 
beo-an  the  town,  was  born  to  David  and  Alice  Ba- 
con,  on  the  2d  of  February,  1811,  their  fifth  child. 

Many  years  afterward  the  child  recalled,  and  put 
into  words,  her  vague  impressions  of  the  scenes 
which  surrounded  her  infancy.  She  was  speaking 
of  the  forces  which  drove  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh  west- 
ward, and  made  of  him  the  pioneer  of  the  New 
World ;  and  especially  of  "  the  new  power  of  the 
religious  Protestantism."  "  It  was  that  too,"  she 
says,  "  which  would  begin  erelong  to  pierce  the 
great  inland  forest  with  its  patient  strength, 
sprinkling  it  with  bright  spots  of  European  cul- 
ture, but  culture  already  beginning  to  be  modified 
by  the  new  exigencies,  going  deeper  and  deeper 
with  its  little  helpless  household  burthens  that  the 
tomahawk  and  the  scalping-knife  must  long  en- 
circle, going  deeper  and  deeper  always  into  its 
old  savage  heart,  and  breaking  it  at  last  with 
those  soft  rings  of  patient  virtues  and  heroic  faith 
and  love.  It  was  that  which  was  working  still, 
when  in  its  fiercest  heart,  —  in  the  valley  of  the 
old  Indian  '  River  of  Beauty,'  where  the  mission 
hut  had  pursued  the  tomahawk,  and  the  'Great 
Trail '  from  the  Northern  lakes  to  the  Southern 
gulf   went   by   the   door,   and  wild   Indian   faces 


8  DELIA   BACON. 

looked  in  on  the  young  mother,  and  wolves  howled 
lullabies,  the  streets  and  squares  of  the  town  were 
pencilled  and  the  college  was  dotted  on  that  trail, 
and  the  wild  old  forest  echoed  with  Sabbath 
hymns  and  sweet  old  English  nursery  songs,  and 
the  children  of  the  New  World  awoke  and  found 
a  new  world  there,  old  as  from  everlasting;."  ^ 

In  the  rural  town  of  Mansfield  in  Connecticut, 
where  the  father  of  this  child  had  sojourned  for  a 
while  before  departing  upon  his  western  mission, 
there  was  among  his  friends  a  lawyer  named 
Salter.  Student-at-law  with  him  was  also  a  friend 
of  the  student  of  divinity,  Thomas  Scott  Williams, 
afterwards  chief  justice  of  Connecticut.  Remov- 
ing, soon  afterward,  to  Hartford  for  the  practice 
of  his  profession,  the  future  chief  justice  married 
the  daughter  of  one  who  had  himself  been  chief 
justice  of  the  United  States,  Delia  Ellsworth. 

Remembering,  in  the  wilderness,  these  friends 
of  his  younger  manhood,  the  missionary  com- 
bined their  names  in  that  of  his  child,  and  called 
her  Delia  Salter.  Almost  to  the  close  of  her  life 
she  continued  to  use  both  names  thus  given  her 
in  baptism ;  but  when  she  began  to  contemplate 
closely  the  publicity  which  she  was  to  confront, 
she  seems  —  though  it  was  never  spoken  of  by  her 
—  to  have  thought  of  a  certain  ludicrousness  in 
the  sounds  thus  brought  together,  and  then,  for 
the  first  time,  she  dropped  out  of  use  the  second 
name. 

^  From  A  Study  of  the  Life  of  Raleigh,  unpublished. 


II. 

The  enterprise  which  had  been  undertaken  by 
this  frontier  missionary,  wise  as  it  has  been  proved 
by  its  results  after  not  many  years,  in  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  agricultural  community  unsur- 
passed in  America  for  comfort,  prosperity,  intelli- 
gence, and  moraUty,  was,  nevertheless,  too  great 
for  his  unaided  strength.  Without  capital  of  his 
own,  he  had  undertaken  the  purchase  upon  credit 
of  the  broad  tract  of  land  upon  which  he  had 
traced  the  roads  and  allotted  the  farms  of  the 
future  colony.  The  sale  of  the  farms  to  the  Con- 
necticut men,  whose  emigration  he  himself  solicited, 
was  to  enable  him,  he  hoped,  to  meet  the  liabili- 
ties he  had  incurred.  But  close  upon  his  pur- 
chase, in  full  peace  with  all  nations,  came  the  Em- 
bargo which  closed  the  ports  of  New  England  to 
the  world,  and  which  was  more  ruinous  to  the 
prosperity  of  New  England  than  even  the  war 
with  Great  Britain,  which  followed  close  upon  it. 
The  plan  which  founded  the  town  ended,  so  far  as 
the  founder  was  concerned,  in  utter  and  heart- 
breaking disappointment  within  a  few  months 
after  this  little  Delia  was  born.  But  the  town 
itself  went  on  growing  in  numbers  and  wealth  and 


10  DELIA   BACON. 

beauty  ;  and  it  remembers  and  honors  its  founder. 
The  site  of  the  cabin,  which  was  its  earliest  house, 
was  marked  by  the  townsmen  in  1881  with  a 
great  granite  bowlder  —  an  "erratic"  block  — 
with  an  inscription  upon  its  face  that  tells  of  the 
gathering  there  of  the  First  Church  in  Tallmadge, 
''  in  the  house  of  Rev.  David  Bacon,  January  22, 
1809." 

For  almost  a  year  of  the  little  girl's  babyhood, 
her  father  had  been  in  Connecticut,  engaged  in  a 
last  endeavor  to  restore  an  undertaking  already 
ruined.  When  that,  too,  had  failed,  as  his  eldest 
son  has  written,  "  with  difficulty  he  obtained  the 
means  of  returning  to  his  family,  and  of  removing 
them  from  the  scene  of  so  great  a  disappointment. 
All  that  he  had  realized  from  those  five  years  of 
arduous  labor  was  poverty,  the  alienation  of  some 
old  friends,  the  depression  that  follows  a  fatal 
defeat,  and  the  dishonor  that  waits  on  one  who 
cannot  pay  his  debts.  Broken  in  health,  broken 
in  heart,  yet  sustained  by  an  immovable  confi- 
dence in  God,  and  by  the  hopes  that  reach  into 
eternity,  he  turned  away  from  the  field  of  hopes 
that  had  so  sadly  perished,  and  bade  his  last  fare- 
well to  Tallmadge  and  the  Western  Reserve."  In 
May,  1812,  with  his  almost  girlish  wife  and  their 
brood  of  little  ones,  of  whom  the  oldest  was  but 
ten,  he  began  his  slow  journey  of  six  hundred 
miles  throu£i:h  the  wilderness  to  his  old  home. 
There,  in  Old  Connecticut,  for  a  little  w^hile  he 


DELIA   BACON.  H 

lingered,  preaching  and  teaching :  in  Litchfield, 
Prospect,  Middletown;  and  at  last  he  laid  down 
his  weary  life,  in  its  forty-sixth  year,  in  August, 
1817. 

It  was  a  very  helpless  family  that  he  left  be- 
hind him.  By  what  management  or  magic  this 
young  widow,  absolutely  without  inheritance  other 
than  the  resolute  and  devout  spirit  which  had 
come  through  many  generations  of  English  Puri- 
tans, contrived  to  feed  and  clothe  her  six  children 
and  herself;  to  supply  them  all  with  the  highest 
education  and  culture  which  that  simple  commu- 
nity afforded ;  and  to  enable  the  two  sons  to  pass 
through  Yale  College  and  into  learned  professions, 
no  one  now  living  can  tell.  It  was,  however,  a 
painful  part  of  the  process  that  it  became  neces- 
sary to  accept  a  home  for  this  little  Delia,  six 
years  old,  in  the  family  of  her  namesake,  Mrs. 
Williams,  in  Hartford.  Here,  for  several  years, 
she  was  cared  for  as  a  daughter  of  the  house, 
while  yet  she  maintained,  by  all  means  of  commu- 
nication, frequent  intercourse  and  warm  affection 
for  those  of  her  own  blood  from  whom  she  was 
parted  for  a  while.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
calm  and  constant  kindness  of  patronage  which 
the  fatlierless  child  received  here ;  but  its  calm- 
ness may  have  been  somewhat  stern  and  grim. 

It  was  not  long  after  Delia  had  thus  found  an 
asylum  in  Hartford  that  a  school  for  girls  was 
opened  there  which  made  no  small  mark  upon  the 


12  DELIA   BACON. 

generation  then  coming  on.  It  was  that  of  Cath- 
erine Beecher,  whose  father,  Lyman  Beecher,  was 
a  minister  of  the  Congregational  churches  which 
were  just  then  ceasing  to  be  "  by  law  established  " 
in  Connecticut,  and  one  whose  fame  for  homiletic 
and  polemic  power  is  far  from  extinct.  Into  this 
school  Delia  entered  as  a  pupil,  and  with  her  was 
the  teacher's  sister,  Harriet,  a  year  her  junior, 
who  was  destined  to  attain  extraordinary  renown 
and  success  in  literature,  not  long  before  her 
schoolmate's  life  of  unsparing  toil  ended  in  disap- 
pointment and  failure.  Through  all  her  life,  how- 
ever, she  retained  the  constant  friendship  of  both 
sisters,  the  teacher  and  the  fellow-pupil.  Nearly 
thirty  years  afterward  Catherine  Beecher  thus 
described  the  child  who  now  came  under  her 
charge  : 

"  If  the  writer  were  to  make  a  list  of  the  most 
gifted  minds  she  has  ever  met,  male  or  female, 
among  the  highest  on  the  list  would  stand  five 
young  maidens,  that  were  then  grouped  around 
the  writer,  in  that  dawning  experience  of  a  teach- 
er's life.  And  never  did  a  teacher  watch  the  un- 
foldings  of  intellect  and  moral  life  with  more 
interest  and  delight.  Of  this  number,  one  was 
the  homeless  daughter  of  that  Western  home  mis- 
sionary. 

"  Possessing  an  agreeable  person,  a  pleasing  and 
intelhgent  countenance,  an  eye  of  deep  and  ear- 
nest expression,  a  melodious  voice,  a  fervid  imagi- 


DELIA  BACON.  13 

nation,  and  the  embryo  of  rare  gifts  of  eloquence 
in  thought  and  expression,  she  was  preeminently 
one  who  would  be  pointed  out  as  a  genius  ;  and 
one,  too,  so  exuberant  and  unregulated  as  to  de- 
mand constant  pruning  and  restraint.  With  this 
was  united  that  natu]:al  delicacy  and  purity  of 
mind,  which  frequently  not  only  protects  the 
young  maiden  from  all  coarseness  and  indecorum, 
but,  even  to  full  womanhood,  renders  it  impossible 
for  her  even  to  conceive  what  impurity  may  be. 

"  In  disposition  she  was  sensitive,  impulsive, 
and  transparent,  possessing  a  keen  longing  for 
approbation,  a  morbid  sensibility  to  criticism  or 
blame,  an  honest  truthfulness,  and  an  entire  free- 
dom from  all  that  could  be  called  management  or 
art." 

"  In  this  period  of  her  mental  history,  had  her 
future  career  been  anticipated  by  the  data  of  I»ier 
natural  endowments  and  probable  circumstances, 
it  would  have  been  predicted  that  her  genius,  her 
confiding  frankness,  her  interesting  appearance, 
her  gifts  of  eloquence,  and  her  sincere  aspirations 
after  all  that  is  good  and  pure,  would  make  her 
an  object  of  attention,  and  probably  of  excessive 
flattery.  On  the  other  hand,  her  keen  sensibility 
to  blame  or  injustice,  her  transparency,  sincerity, 
and  impulsiveness,  the  dangerous  power  of  keen 
and  witty  expression,  and  the  want  of  the  guid- 
ance and  protection  of  parents  and  home,  would 
make  her  an  object  of  unjust  depreciation 


14  DELIA   BACON. 

The  persons  who  were  objects  of  her  regard,  and 
to  whom  she  confided  her  thoughts  and  feelings, 
would  almost  inevitably  become  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers, while  those  who  in  any  way  came  into  an- 
tagonism w^ould  be  as  decided  in  their  dislike." 

The  sketch  thus  drawn  by  the  clear-minded 
teacher,  strong  and  sharp  as  it  is,  needs  yet  some 
filling  up  of  its  outlines.  I  cannot  speak  irrever- 
ently of  the  terrors  with  which  the  prevalent  reli- 
gion of  New  England,  from  the  beginning  down  to 
very  recent  times,  sought  to  persuade  men  to  live 
purely  and  think  rightly.  Half  a  century  hence, 
when  it  has  been  proved  that  better,  stronger,  and 
truer  men  and  women  have  been  nurtured  under 
the  relaxation  of  those  old-time  rigors  than  those 
whom  the  seventeenth,  the  eighteenth,  and  the 
first  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  in  New 
England  produced,  scorn  and  indignation  at  the 
ancient  Puritan  errors  will  at  least  not  be  un- 
timely. But  even  the  most  loyal  New  Englander 
may  doubt  the  wholesomeness  of  the  exercises 
of  self-examination  and  introspection  into  which 
devout  parents  and  teachers  guided  their  infant 
charges.  It  touches  close  upon  sacrilege  to  in- 
vade the  confidence  of  a  3'oung  religious  soul, 
seeking  for  illumination  under  the  menace  of 
eternal  wretchedness  ;  but  the  woman  whose  story 
is  told  cannot  be  known  without  knowledge  of  the 
girl.  There  is  extant  a  letter  from  her  to  her 
brother,  then  a  student  of  divinity,  when  she  was 


DELIA   BACON.  15 

a  child  of  ten.  It  covers  one  side  of  a  half  sheet 
of  foolscap,  yellow  with  age,  and  ruled  with  pen- 
ciled lines.  "Your  sister,"  says  this  little  child, 
"  has  resisted  the  Holy  Spirit  and  He  has  departed 
from  me.  0  Avhat  a  deplorable  state !  what  a 
dreadful  situation  !  When  I  think  of  it  I  tremble ; 
bnt  my  fears  are  of  short  duration.  Like  Felix  I 
say,  go  thy  way  for  this  season ;  but  oh  !  what 
will  become  of  me  when  I  shall  leave  this  vain 
transitory  world  and  rise  before  my  God  in  judg- 
ment !  Cease  not  to  •  pray  for  me ;  I  have  neg- 
lected the  offers  of  salvation ;  I  have  despised 
my  dear  Redeemer ;  but  still  there  is  mercy  with 
him  who  is  able  to  save."     (Sept.  29,  1821.) 

From  time  to  time  appear,  among  her  brother's 
most  sacredly  treasured  papers,  letters  showing 
continual  like  struggles  and  miseries,  with  alter- 
nating hope  and  despair,  resulting  at  last,  at  some 
time  before  her  fifteenth  birthday,  in  a  formal 
"  profession  of  faith,"  in  the  First  Church  in  Hart- 
ford. 

From  the  spring  of  1826  the  shelter  and  sup- 
port which  she  had  for  years  received  in  the  Wil- 
liams household  were  to  be  hers  no  longer.  With 
a  very  sad  young  heart  she  looked  out  upon  the 
world  in  which,  at  fifteen,  she  was  to  begin  a  life- 
long struggle.  At  the  close  of  February  she 
writes  to  her  eldest  brother,  who,  young  as  he 
was,  stood  in  a  father's  place  to  her  :  "  I  have  but 
nine  weeks  more  to  remain  in  my  present  home," 
and  then,  "  I  shall  have  no  home  in  all  the  wide, 


16  DELIA   BACON. 

wide  world  I  can  call  ray  own."  "  The  future 
seems  very  dark  to  me,  and  I  cannot  imagine 
what  I  am  to  do.  I  know  I  am  to  depend  upon 
my  own  exertions  for  subsistence,  and  were  there 
any  field  for  these  exertions  I  would  not  fear. 
But  there  seems  to  me  none,  and  every  way  I 
turn  I  am  disappointed  and  perplexed."  (Feb. 
26,  1826.) 

At  last,  after  much  inquiry  in  various  direc- 
tions for  a  place  in  which  a  school  could  be  main- 
tained (the  only  resource  in  those  days  for  women 
who  would  help  themselves),  after  some  small 
work  in  a  school  in  Hartford,  this  child,  with  a 
sister  but  little  older,  began  a  school  in  the  village 
of  Southington,  Connecticut. 

Almost  at  the  beginning  of  1827,  when  Delia 
was  not  yet  sixteen,  the  Southington  enterprise 
was  begun.  It  seems  to  have  been  for  girls  of 
ages  up  to  the  highest  school  limit ;  yet  here,  and 
in  the  other  places  where  new  experiments  were 
made,  the  head  of  the  school  was  Delia,  and  her 
elder  sister  was  subordinate. 

It  would  be  profitless  to  reproduce  from  her 
letters  the  assiduous  toil,  the  continuous  strug- 
gle of  pinching  economy  with  dire  poverty,  in 
which  these  years  of  girlhood  were  worn  away. 
In  Southington,  only  the  time  from  January  to 
September  was  needed  to  demonstrate  the  failure 
of  their  project.  At  Perth  Amboy,  in  New  Jersey, 
they  had  learned  by  May  of  the  next  year  (1828) 
that  the  sanguine  hopes  with  which  they  had  been 


DELIA  BACON.  17 

attracted  thither  by  the  townspeople  were  unwar- 
ranted, and  they  had  fallen  a  little  further  into 
debt  than  when  they  came.  At  Jamaica  on  Long 
Island,  twelve  miles  from  New  York,  the  prospect 
set  before  them  was  still  more  glowing  than  be- 
fore. Their  undertaking  was  to  be  larger.  Not 
only  were  they  to  teach  a  greater  number  of 
young  ladies,  but  they  were  —  these  two  girls  — 
to  maintain  a  household  of  which  some  of  the 
scholars  should  be  inmates. 

The  encouragement  which  inspired  them  in  be- 
ginning here,  in  May,  1828,  was  certainly  substan- 
tial. There  was  a  refined  and  cultured  society 
there,  which  appreciated  and  welcomed  the  refine- 
ment of  the  girl  teachers.  Especially  did  they 
find  support  in  the  cordial  friendliness  of  John 
Alsop  King,  whose  father,  Rufus  King,  had  been 
one  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen  of  the  post- 
revolutionary  period,  and  who  became  himself 
governor  of  New  York  in  later  years.  But  even 
here,  two  years  sufficed  to  prove  their  powers  in- 
adequate to  their  task ;  and  in  the  summer  of 
1830  an  end  came,  in  disappointment,  exhaustion, 
sickness,  and  hopeless  insolvency,  to  this  last  at- 
tempt. And  in  telling  the  fatal  story  to  their 
eldest  brother,  Leonard,  who  was  all  they  had  for 
counselor,  comforter,  and  helper,  Delia  begins  by 
saying :  "  Our  letters  must  still  be  what  they  al- 
ways have  been,  a  tale  of  blasted  hopes,  realized 
fears,  and  unlooked-for  sorrows." 


III. 

There  were  no  more  daring  enterprises  in  es- 
tablishing and  carrying  on  schools,  with  all  the 
responsibilities,  cares,  and  hazards  of  proprietor- 
ship. Here  and  there,  however,  Delia  was  able 
now  to  maintain  herself  by  teaching  in  the  schools 
of  others.  At  Hartford  once  more,  immediately 
after  the  Jamaica  disaster ;  at  Penn  Yan,  in  West- 
ern New  York,  after  which  she  frankly  declares, 
"I  will  never  live  again  in  a  place  with  such  a 
heathenish  name,  unless  I  go  on  a  mission  "  (June 
16,  1832) ;  perhaps  in  the  rural  village  of  West 
Bloomfield,  not  far  from  there,  where  at  any  rate 
she  was  for  many  months  with  her  married  old- 
est sister;  and  perhaps  elsewhere.  But  during 
these  years  she  was  getting  into  her  mind  notions 
of  better  means  of  self-support  than  teaching 
school. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  toil  and  trouble  at  Ja- 
maica she  had  prepared  for  the  press,  if  a  pub- 
lisher could  be  found,  her  first  adventure  in  let- 
ters. It  was  not  strange  that  the  history  of  the 
Anglo-American  Puritans  should  strongly  hold  the 
attention  of  one  who  was  so  completely  theirs 
by  descent  and  by  sympathy;   and  the  series  of 


DELIA   BACON.  19 

short  stories  which  were  to  make  her  book  was 
founded  upon  incidents  in  their  history.  In  the 
spring  of  1831  there  was  published  in  New  Haven, 
by  A.  H.  Maltby,  "  Tales  of  the  Puritans,"  a  duo- 
decimo of  three  hundred  pages.  The  author's 
name  was  not  given,  but  such  credit  as  belonged 
to  it  was  soon  awarded  to  Delia  Bacon.  Nor  was 
it  by  any  means  without  merit,  especially,  as  she 
herself  said  of  it  shortly  afterward,  "  considering 
it  as  written  without  experience,  without  knowl- 
edge of  the  subjects  of  which  it  treated,  with 
scarcely  a  book  to  refer  to  beyond  the  works 
made  use  of  in  school."  (Dec.  12,  1831.)  The 
three  stories  contained  in  it  were  "  The  Regi- 
cides," "A  Fair  Pilgrim,"  and  "  Castine,"  which 
she  had  at  first  called  "  The  Catholic."  The  first 
was  an  adaptation,  far  from  unskillful  or  uninter- 
esting, of  the  romantic  story  of  the  three  judges 
of  Charles  I.  who  found  shelter  in  New  Haven, 
and  of  the  pursuit  of  them  after  the  Restoration, 
ingeniously  defeated  by  sympathizing  officials  and 
people.  The  next  seems  to  have  been  suggested, 
but  little  more,  by  the  fate  of  the  Lady  Arbella 
Johnson,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  who 
came  to  die  in  the  wilderness,  at  Salem,  in  1630; 
and  the  subject  of  the  last  was  the  French  settle- 
ment of  the  Baron  Castine  upon  the  Penobscot, 
late  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

This  experiment,   attempted   in   the    stress   of 
poverty  and  debt  in  the  hope  of   retrieving  the 


20  DELIA   BACON. 

impending  losses  from  the  school,  seems  to  have 
achieved  for  her  little  more  than  the  succes  d'es- 
time  vi^hich  was  quite  unquestionable.  The  credit, 
indeed,  which  the  girl  got  for  it,  in  those  days 
when  the  girls  were  rare  who  saw  themselves  in 
print,  may  have  done  little  good  in  sharpening 
the  hunger  for  literary  success  which  shrewd  Cath- 
erine Beecher  had  already  discerned  in  her  as  a 
child  at  school.  "  From  her  childhood,"  her  oldest 
brother  wrote  of  her  long  afterward,  "  she  has  had 
a  passion  for  literature,  and  perhaps  I  should  say 
a  longing,  more  or  less  distinct,  for  literary  celeb- 
rity." So  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  at  work, 
in  the  intervals  of  teaching  here  and  there  in 
schools,  or  (this  she  liked  much  better)  select 
classes  of  young  ladies  in  her  own  apartments, 
upon  a  new  venture  based  upon  an  incident  of 
American  history.  This  was  to  have  been  a  drama, 
and  at  first  ambition  had  inspired  the  hope,  at 
which  indeed  her  Puritan  soul  was  rather  aghast, 
that  it  might  be  acted  upon  the  stage.  Friendly 
criticism,  however,  and  especially,  as  her  letters 
show,  that  of  her  brother,  convinced  her,  after  she 
had  exhausted  herself  with  labor  upon  it,  that  it 
lacked  essential  dramatic  qualities;  and  at  last, 
when  she  had  rewritten  and  greatly  altered  it,  the 
form  of  dialogue  being  yet  retained,  it  was  pub- 
lished in  New  York,  late  in  1839,  by  S.  Colman. 
Its  title  was  "  The  Bride  of  Fort  Edward  :  A  Dra- 


DELIA   BACON.  21 

matic  Story."  It  was  based  upon  the  pathetic 
story  of  Jane  McCrea,  a  beautiful  American  girl 
whose  lover  was  a  loyalist  officer  in  Burgoyne's 
army,  just  before  its  surrender  at  Saratoga.  Cap- 
tured by  a  party  of  Burgoyne's  Indians,  she  prom- 
ised them,  in  her  terror,  a  large  reward  if  they 
would  take  her  safely  to  the  British  camp.  "  It 
was  a  fatal  promise,"  says  Irving.  "  Halting  at  a 
spring,  a  quarrel  arose  among  the  savages,  in- 
flamed most  probably  with  drink,  as  to  whose 
prize  she  was,  and  who  was  entitled  to  the  re- 
ward. The  dispute  became  furious,  and  one,  in 
a  paroxysm  of  rage,  killed  her  on  the  spot.  He 
completed  the  savage  act  by  bearing  off  her  scalp 
as  a  trophy."  ^ 

This  episode  and  its  effect,  which  was  certainly 
very  great,  in  stimulating  the  patriotic  rage  of  the 
revolutionary  army,  are  the  theme  of  the  book. 
The  dialogue  is  mostly  in  prose,  with  passages 
interspersed  of  blank  verse,  not  always  correct; 
and  it  continues  for  almost  two  hundred  pages  of 
rhapsody  and  apostrophe  and  curiously  mistaken 
familiar  speech  of  common  people.  That  partial 
theatrical  friends  —  her  letters  even  mention  Miss 
Ellen  Tree,  one  of  the  most  famous  of  her  day 
—  should  ever  have  fancied  that  it  contained  so 
much  as  the  germ  of  an  acting  play,  is  inconceiv- 
able when  one  reads  it  now ;  and  even  the  read- 

^  Life  of  Washington,  iii.  153. 


22  DELIA   BACON. 

ing  of  it  is  far  from  being  a  recreation.  It  was 
a  failure,  every  way  ;  it  brought  debt  instead  of 
money,  and  no  renown ;  but  it  did  the  great  ser- 
vice of  ending,  for  a  time,  her  attempts  at  liter- 
ary work,  and  turning  her  back  to  study  and  in- 
struction. 


IV. 

In  all  these  years,  beginning  with  a  severe  and 
prolonged  course  of  an  epidemic  fever  at  Jamaica 
in  1828,  the  girl,  maturing  into  womanhood,  had 
been  waging  a  sharp  though  intermittent  warfare 
with  ill-health.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  high  spir- 
its and  animation  which  seem  to  have  been  natural 
to  her  indicated  a  vigorous  physical  state ;  but 
often  there  were  intense,  prolonged,  and  prostrat- 
ino;  headaches,  or  ao;onizino^  attacks  of  neuralo-ia. 
Against  this,  however,  she  carried  on  with  high 
courage  her  struggle  to  be  something  and  to  ac- 
complish something.  She  writes  to  her  brother  of 
being  "  resolved  to  correct  the  defects  of  her  early 
education,  so  far  as  it  is  possible  for  earnest  and 
patient  effort  to  accomplish  it ;  "  and  so  of  her 
reading  on  vegetable  physiology,  on  political  econ- 
omy, on  the  elements  of  ideology.  (Dec.  12, 
1831.)  At  another  time  she  is  renewing  her 
school  acquaintance,  such  as  it  was,  with  Latin  ; 
and  again,  with  little  help  from  teachers,  she  is 
trying  to  learn  Greek. 

But  in  the  midst  of  it  all  —  sickness,  studying, 
writing  of  stories  and  plays  that  cannot  be  played 
—  she  carries  on  the  work  of  instruction,  from 


24  DELIA  BACON. 

which  alone,  in  those  days,  a  woman  could  earn 
her  living,  if  she  could  not  work  with  her  hands. 
This  she  did,  not  in  the  perfunctory  fashion  which 
seems  alone  to  have  been  known  to  the  pedagogy 
of  the  time,  but  in  a  Avay  of  her  own  devising. 
She  gathered  about  her,  in  her  own  apartments, 
or  in  some  larger  room  when  her  own  proved  in- 
sufficient, young  ladies  whose  school-days  were 
ended,  and  many,  even,  who  were  no  longer 
young.  These  she  taught,  in  literature  some- 
times, but  above  all  in  history.  One  who  seems 
to  have  thought  it  a  privilege  to  be  her  pupil  has 
written  thus  of  her  instruction  : 

"  She  imparted  to  them  new  ideas ;  she  system- 
atized for  them  the  knowledge  already  gained  ; 
she  engaged  them  in  discussion ;  she  taught  them 
to  think.  *  What  books  do  you  use  in  Miss  Ba- 
con's class  ? '  A  question  often  asked  and  impos- 
sible of  answer.  Her  pupils  had  no  books  —  only 
a  pencil  and  some  paper.  All  they  learned  was 
received  from  her  lips.  She  sat  before  them,  her 
noble  countenance  lighted  with  enthusiasm,  her 
fair  white  hands  now  holding  a  book  from  which 
she  read  an  extract,  now  pressing  for  a  moment 
the  thoughtful  brow.  She  knew  both  how  to 
pour  in  knowledge  and  how  to  draw  out  thought. 
And  there  are  few  listeners,  I  think,  who  can  give 
keener  and  more  critical  attention  than  the  former 
members  of  Miss  Bacon's  class. 

"  In  many  of  the  Eastern  cities  "  these  historical 


DELIA   BACON.  ,  25 

lectures  "  called  out  deep  interest  and  enthusiasm. 
Hundreds  of  the  most  cultivated  flocked  to  hear 
them.  Graceful  and  intellectual  in  appearance, 
eloquent  in  speech,  marvelously  wise,  and  full  of 
inspiration,  she  looked  and  spoke  the  very  muse 
of  history.  Of  these  lectures  she  wrote  out  noth- 
ing—  not  even  notes.  All  their  wisdom  came 
fresh  and  living  from  the  depth  of  her  ready  intel- 
lect. And  for  that  very  reason  there  is  now  no 
trace  of  what  would  he  so  valuable."  ^ 

Since  these  pages  are  written  only  to  tell  those 
who  care  to  know  what  Delia  Bacon  was,  it  may 
be  well  to  adduce  further  the  testimony  of  this 
pupil. 

"  Delia  Bacon  was  a  woman  of  a  genius  rare  and 
incomparable.  Wherever  she  went,  there  walked 
a  queen  in  the  realm  of  mind.  To  converse  with 
her  was  to  be  carried  captive.  The  most  ordinary 
topic  became  fascinating  when  she  dealt  with  it, 
for  whatever  subject  she  touched  she  invested 
with  her  own  wonderful  wealth  of  thought,  and 
illustration,  and  association,  and  imagery,  until  all 
else  was  forgotten  in  her  magical  converse. 

"  In  personal  appearance  she  was  of  middle  stat- 
ure, graceful,  fair,  and  slight.  Her  habitual 
black  dress  set  off  to  advantage  the  radiant  face, 
whose  fair  complexion  was  that  uncommon  one 
which  can  only  be  described  as  pale  yet  brilliant. 

1  Article  "Delia  Bacon  :  "  by  Sydney  E.  Holmes   [Mrs.  Sarah  E. 
Hensliaw]:  The  Advance  (Chicago),  Dec.  26,  1867. 


26  .  DELIA  BACON. 

Intellect  was  stamped  on  every  feature.  Genius 
looked  from  brow  and  eye.  The  hair  was  a  pale 
brown,  gold  tinted  ^  —  fit  shading  for  such  a  coun- 
tenance. The  eye  blue-gray,  clear,  shining,  and 
passing  rapidly  through  all  expressions,  from  the 
swimming  softness  of  tender  sympathy  to  the 
flash  that  revealed  the  inspiration  within. 

"  Meeting  her  in  a  crowd,  you  glanced  over  and 
thought — 'a  graceful  woman.'  But  your  eye 
unconsciously  sought  her  again,  and  the  second 
time  you  felt  rather  than  thought  — '  a  remark- 
able woman.'  *  Who  is  that  lady  ? '  asked  a 
newly  appointed  college  official,  —  '  that  lady 
whom  I  meet  occasionally  in  the  street.'  He 
went  on  to  paint  her.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  description.  '  That,'  was  the  reply,  '  is  Miss 
Bacon.'  'That  Miss  Bacon!'  he  exclaimed.  *I 
knew  it  was  some  one  remarkable  !  —  I  never  saw 
such  an  eye  in  my  life  !  and  how  young  she  is ! ' 

"  No  one  could  know  and  appreciate  Delia  Ba- 
con, without  placing  her  in  his  estimation  among 
the  most  highly  endowed  women  whom  he  ever 
saw  or  heard  of.  Was  philosophy  the  subject  of 
her  discourse  ?  She  dealt  with  abstract  truth  as 
but  one  woman  does  in  generations.  Weighing, 
balancing,  analyzing,  and  comparing,  she  knew  all 
systems,  and  had    their   resemblances    and    their 

1  This  detail  is  certainly  erroneous.  The  hair  was  of  a  brown 
which  was  nearer  to  black  than  is  often  found  with  blue  or  blue-gray 
eyes.  —  T.  B. 


DELIA   BACON.  27 

differences  clearly  defined,  distinctly  remembered, 
and  ready  at  her  call.  Her  mastery  of  the  sub- 
ject astonished  you ;  you  were  sure  she  had  given 
her  chief  time  and  thought  to  that  alone. 

"  Was  it  history  ?  She  was  equally  at  home,  and 
showed  an  insight  that  illustrated  her  great  intel- 
lectual powers.  Chronology,  geography,  narra- 
tive —  all  its  facts  were  familiar  to  her.  Know- 
ing what  she  knew  of  these,  most  people  would 
have  considered  themselves  thoroughly  versed  in 
historic  lore.  But  history  to  her  was  not  these  — 
these  were  to  her  only  the  beginning.  They  were 
the  husk,  the  rind,  the  outward  covering  of  a 
philosophy,  which  she  delighted  to  educe  for 
duller  minds  to  recognize.  So  with  poetry  and 
art.  By  her  own  originality  and  genius,  she  set 
forth  each  with  new  thoughts,  or  with  old  ones  in 
new  combinations.  And  a  deep  veneration  for 
what  is  good,  a  clear  recognition  of  God  and  his 
providence,  underlay  all  her  teachings.  This  is 
no  high-sounding  praise.  Let  those  who  knew 
her  best  make  answer."  ^ 

For  some  years  together  —  exactly  when  the 
period  began  or  ended  it  is  hard  to  say  —  these 
courses  of  instruction  were  given  by  her  with  great 
approval.  In  New  Haven,  where  her  brother  was 
minister  of  the  ancient  "  First  Church,"  and  was 
also  in  official  relation  to  Yale  College,  she  had 
certain  marked  advantages    of  acquaintance  and 

1  Article  "  Delia  Bacon  "  :  The  Advance,  uhi  supra. 


28  DELIA   BACON. 

introduction;  and  here  her  classes  are  said  to  have 
numbered  one  hundred,  while  they  included  be- 
yond doubt  all  that  was  most  refined  and  culti- 
vated in  the  society  of  that  university  town.  In 
Hartford,  the  home  of  her  childhood,  her  success 
was  gratifying  to  her  reasonable  pride.  In  Bos- 
ton, in  Cambridge,  and  in  New  York  and  Brook- 
lyn —  these  last,  in  1852  and  1853,  seeming  to 
end  the  list  —  she  continued  this  congenial  but  ex- 
hausting labor  of  oral  instruction,  and  even  found 
the  new  sensation,  in  the  last  season  of  this  period, 
of  earning  money  enough  to  make  substantial  pay- 
ments upon  the  debts  incurred  in  former  years. 

It  was  in  Boston  that  she  became  acquainted 
with  one  of  those  who  have  recorded  in  public  the 
impression  she  made.  In  "  Recollections  of  Sev- 
enty Years,"  ^  of  which  the  first  of  several  editions 
appeared  in  1865,  Mrs.  Eliza  Farrar,  who  had 
come  to  know  her  well  before  she  died,  devotes 
her  closing  chapter  to  the  story,  so  far  as  it  had 
been  within  her  knowledge,  "of  a  highly  gifted 
and  noble-minded  woman  "  (p.  331). 

"  The  first  lady  whom  I  ever  heard  deliver  a 
public  lecture  was  Miss  Delia  Bacon,  who  opened 
her  career  in  Boston,  as  teacher  of  history,  by 
giving  a  preliminary  discourse,  describing  her 
method,  and  urging  upon  her  hearers  the  impor- 
tance of  the  study. 

1  Boston  :  Ticknor  &  Fields. 


DELIA   BACON.  29 

"  I  had  called  on  her  that  day  for  the  first  time, 
and  found  her  very  nervous  and  anxious  about 
her  first  appearance  in  public.  She  interested  me 
at  once,  and  I  resolved  to  hear  her  speak.  Her 
person  was  tall  and  commanding,  her  finely  shaped 
head  was  well  set  on  her  shoulders,  her  face  was 
handsome  and  full  of  expression,  and  she  moved 
with  grace  and  dignity.  The  hall  in  which  she 
spoke  was  so  crowded  that  I  could  not  get  a  seat, 
but  she  spoke  so  well  that  I  felt  no  fatigue  from 
standing.  She  was  at  first  a  little  embarrassed, 
but  soon  became  so  engaged  in  recommending  the 
study  of  history  to  all  present,  that  she  ceased  to 
think  of  herself,  and  then  she  became  eloquent. 

"  Her  course  of  oral  lessons,  or  lectures,  on  his- 
tory interested  her  class  of  ladies  so  much  that  she 
was  induced  to  repeat  them,  and  I  heard  several 
who  attended  them  speak  in  the  highest  terms  of 
them.  She  not  only  spoke,  but  read  well,  and 
when  on  the  subject  of  Roman  history,  she  de- 
lighted her  audience  by  giving  them  with  great 
effect  some  of  Macaulay's  Lays.^ 

"I  persuaded  her  to  give  her  lessons  in  Cam- 
bridge, and  she  had  a  very  appreciative  class  as- 
sembled in  the  large  parlor  of  the  Brattle  House. 
She  spoke  without  notes,  entirely  from  her  well- 
stored  memory ;  and  she  would  so  group  her  facts 
as  to  present  to  us  historical  pictures  calculated  to 

1  It  should  be  remembered  that  the  "  Lays  "  had  then  but  just 
appeared,  and  were  not  yet  commonplaces.  —  T.  B. 


30  DELIA   BACON. 

make  a  lasting  impression.  She  was  so  much  ad- 
mired and  liked  in  Cambridge,  that  a  lady  there 
invited  her  to  spend  the  winter  with  her  as  her 
guest,  and  I  gave  her  the  use  of  my  parlor  for 
another  course  of  lectures.  In  these  she  brought 
down  her  history  to  the  time  of  the  birth  of 
Christ,  and  I  can  never  forget  how  clear  she 
made  it  to  us  that  the  world  was  only  then  made 
fit  for  the  advent  of  Jesus.  She  ended  with  a  fine 
climax  that  was  quite  thrilling. 

"  In  her  Cambridge  course  she  had  maps,  charts, 
models,  pictures,  and  everything  she  needed  to 
illustrate  her  subject.  This  added  much  to  her 
pleasure  and  ours.  All  who  saw  her  then  must 
remember  how  handsome  she  was,  and  how  grace- 
fully she  used  her  wand  in  pointing  to  the  illustra- 
tions of  her  subject.  I  used  to  be  reminded  by  her 
of  Raphael's  sibyls,  and  she  often  spoke  like  an 
oracle. 

"  She  and  a  few  of  her  class  would  often  stay 
after  the  lesson  and  take  tea  with  me,  and  then 
she  would  talk  delightfully  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  It  was  very  inconsiderate  in  us  to  allow 
her  to  do  so,  and  when  her  course  ended  she  was 
half  dead  with  fatigue"  (pp.  319-321). 

The  instruction,  however,  which  for  almost  a 
decade  of  years  she  was  thus  giving  by  oral  dis- 
course and  conversation  to  classes  of  ladies,  while 
general  history  was  perhaps  oftenest  its  subject, 


DELIA   BACON.  31 

was  by  no  means  restricted  to  the  history  of  events. 
She  taught,  in  like  manner,  with  high  enthusiasm 
and  with  great  acceptance,  the  history  of  hterature 
and  the  arts,  and  the  history  and  principles  of  criti- 
cism. More  and  more,  indeed,  through  all  this 
period  of  exhausting  toil  for  self-support,  under 
the  burden  of  sickness  and  penury  and  debt,  her 
interest  and  her  inclination  were  turning  toward 
pure  literature  and  literary  criticism ;  so  that 
when,  in  1852,  her  historical  lectures  in  Boston 
and  Cambridge  were  ended  for  the  season,  she 
seems  to  have  hoped  that  they  would  never  be,  as 
in  fact  they  never  were,  resumed. 


V. 

This  was  not  a  normal  or  healthful  life  for  a 
girl  and  woman  of  an  exquisitely  sensitive  nervous 
organization,  of  fine  intellectual  powers,  of  strong 
affections.  With  the  warmest  instinct  of  domestic 
love  for  the  family  into  which  she  had  been  born, 
and  in  which  privation  and  hardship  and  separa- 
tion had  only  strengthened  the  mutual  attachment 
of  its  members,  she  yet  had  never  known  a  home, 
except  the  stern  and  conscientious  hospitality 
which  sheltered  her  for  the  few  years  before  she 
became  fifteen.  With  a  keen  sense  of  admiration, 
and  with  personal  attractions  so  marked,  that 
although  she  did  not  seem  conscious  she  could  not 
have  been  ignorant  of  them,  her  girlhood  was 
grimly  shut  out  from  even  the  temperate  social 
joys  that  Connecticut  Puritanism  allowed.  Out  of 
such  social  life,  had  not  the  necessity  that  was  laid 
upon  her  forbidden  it  to  her,  there  might  have 
come  in  her  womanhood  the  home  which  she  was 
never  to  know,  and  the  ties  and  the  occupations 
which  would  have  turned  the  current  of  her  life 
into  a  placid,  serene,  and  undistinguished  domes- 
ticity. But  there  was  no  room  in  her  crowded 
life  for  the  passages  that  lead  to  marriage.     Such 


DELIA   BACON.  33 

addresses  as  had  been  openly  paid  to  her  she  was 
observed  to  receive  with  amusement  rather  than 
seriously,  and  then  to  decline.  Afterward,  indeed, 
when  she  was  mature  in  age,  she  underwent  a 
most  cruel  ordeal,  and  suffered  a  grievous  and 
humiliating  disappointment.  So  keen  was  the 
exasperation,  and  so  deep  the  humiliation  to  which 
her  highly  sensitive  and  already  overwrought 
nature  was  subjected  in  the  face  of  a  wide  and 
critical  circle  of  acquaintance,  that  it  would  not 
have  been  strange  if  the  new  strain  had  broken 
it  down  completely.  Exquisitely  sensitive  as  she 
was,  however,  she  was  no  less  proud  and  brave ; 
and  if  from  the  sharp  and  prolonged  distress  of  the 
years  1846  and  1847  her  mind  did  in  fact  undergo 
some  permanent  harm  that  took  open  effect  in 
later  years,  there  was  little  sign  of  it  then.  Sus- 
tained by  the  womanly  pride  that  was  born  in  her, 
and  by  the  religious  principle  in  which  she  had 
been  so  diligently  trained,  she  was  able  to  write, 
not  long  afterward,  to  her  brother  from  Ohio,  al- 
most from  the  very  spot  where  she  was  born  in  a 
missionary's  cabin  :  "  I  begin  to  look  upon  the 
world,  and  its  toil  and  strife,  somewhat  as  those 
do  who  have  left  it  forever.  Objects  which  once 
seemed  very  large  to  me  appear  now,  in  the  men- 
tal perspective  which  this  distance  creates,  absurd- 
ly little.  ...  In  that  calm  of  heart  and  soul  to 
which  God  by  his  providence  and  by  his  grace  has 
at  length  conducted  me,  I  can  afford  to  wait  until 
*  the  lying  lips  are  put  to  silence.'  " 


34  DELIA   BACON. 

More  than  ever  before  was  the  tender  and 
watchful  care  of  those  to  whom  she  was  especially 
bound  by  ties  of  nature  or  affection  centred  upon 
her  during  these  years  of  suffering  and  of  threat- 
ened prostration,  and  the  years  that  closely  fol- 
lowed them.  Cheered  though  they  were,  how- 
ever, by  her  courage  and  fortitude,  there  were 
those  among  them  who  began  already  to  discern 
upon  her,  even  if  they  sounded  no  note  of  warn- 
ing, the  approaching  shadow  of  a  dark  and  dread- 
ful cloud. 


VI. 

Stu£)Ying  and  teaching  for  many  years  not 
merely  the  history  of  events,  but  the  history  and 
criticism  of  literature,  it  is  not  strange  that  the 
strongly  English  mind  of  this  New  England  woman 
became  gradually  fixed  upon  the  greatest  work  of 
English  letters,  the  drama  of  the  Elizabethan  and 
Jacobean  age.  So  complete,  indeed,  was  the  spell 
of  fascination  under  which  she  fell  in  the  study 
especially  of  the  plays  which  bear  the  name  of 
Shakspere,  that  after  the  beginning  of  1853  she 
could  no  longer  endure  the  burden  of  her  histori- 
cal lessons,  in  which  she  seemed  to  have  achieved 
a  permanent  success,  sure  to  bring  her,  if  only  she 
should  continue  them,  prosperity  and  credit. 

To  whom  it  first  occurred  to  doubt  the  title  of 
William  Shakspere  to  the  authorship  of  the  plays 
commonly  bearing  his  name  is  a  question  which 
will  not  be  much  discussed  in  this  sketch. 

Certainly  no  dispute  of  authorship  was  rife  in 
his  lifetime.  A  good  reason  for  this  was  that  there 
was  no  assertion  of  authorship  by  any  one.  It  is 
true,  that  as  early  as  1589,  when  Shakspere  was 
twenty-five  years  old,  he  had  become  a  play-actor, 
and  one  of  the  sixteen  owners  of  the  Blackfriars 


36  DELIA   BACON. 

play-house.  It  is  even  guessed  that  as  early  as 
that,  one  of  the  plays  which  were  afterward  called 
his  had  been  performed,  in  that  house  or  else- 
where ;  although  it  is  hardly  surmised  that  any 
one  of  them  was  printed  earlier  than  1694.  And 
inasmuch  as  the  general  agreement  seems  to  be 
that  half  of  all  that  go  commonly  by  his  name,  in- 
cluding many  of  the  noblest,  were  never  printed 
at  all  while  he  lived,  or  until  seven  years  after  his 
death,  since  there  was  no  assertion  of  authorship, 
contention  could  hardly  arise  against  it. 

Nor  was  it  until  very  long  after  an  author  was 
first  openly  nominated  for  these  plays  in  the  publi- 
cation of  the  folio  edition  of  1623,  that  either  liter- 
ary or  historical  criticism  could  easily  turn  itself 
to  a  discussion  of  the  claim,  if  any  one  had  thought 
of  suggesting  such  a  discussion.  It  might,  indeed, 
be  said  that  for  a  century  afterward  neither  liter- 
ary nor  historical  criticism  existed  in  England  ; 
and  there  were  other  reasons  why  the  intellectual 
activity  of  England  concerned  itself  little,  for 
many  years,  with  the  plays  of  Elizabeth's  time  or 
their  authors.  When  the  folio  of  Heminge  and 
Condell  appeared,  the  great  political  struggle  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  to  prepare  the  way  for 
which  the  acted  plays  had  already  done  so  much, 
was  on  the  point  of  passing  from  its  first  stage  of 
discussion  and  lawful  agitation  into  open  and  revo- 
lutionary outbreak.  Two  years  after,  the  death  of 
James  I.  and  the  accession  of  his  son  gave  new 


DELIA   BACON.  37 

intensity  to  the  conflict  already  engaged ;  and 
from  that  time  onward  to  half  of  England  a  play, 
a  play-house,  or  a  play-writer  was  sinful ;  while 
for  all  England  there  was  graver  work  than  read- 
ing plays  or  speculating  upon  their  authorship. 
Then,  when  the  anti-Puritan  reaction  came  with 
the  Restoration,  the  dramas  of  a  past  generation 
had  little  chance  of  a  hearing  in  competition  with 
the  witty  abominations  of  Congreve  and  Wycher- 
ley ;  and  the  stiffening  classicism  of  the  time  of 
Anne  and  the  Georges  afforded  little  tolerance  for 
"  Fancy's  child,"  by  whatever  name  he  might  be 
called,  if  he  warbled  to  it  only  "  his  native  wood- 
notes  wild." 

And  yet  it  is  not  altogether  untrue  to  say  that 
the  authorship  of  the  Shakspere  drama  has  always 
been  in  controversy.  From  the  beginning  until 
now,  w^hile  almost  all  men  were  agreed  that  Shak- 
spere wrote  plays,  it  was  hard  to  find  two  who 
agreed  what  plays  he  wrote.  The  folio  of  1623 
contained  thirty-six  plays.  Of  these,  eighteen  were 
then  for  the  first  time  printed.  Yet,  while  the 
aim  of  the  editors  is  to  present  a  complete  collec- 
tion of  his  plays,  they  wholly  disregard  at  least 
seventeen  which  during  the  author's  lifetime  had 
been  published  under  his  name,  without  any  dis- 
avowal by  him  so  far  as  is  known.  Upon  these 
last  therefore,  at  all  events,  men's  opinions  differed 
in  Shakspere's  time  and  afterwards.  They  differed, 
also,  upon  the  play  of  "  Pericles,"  which  the  folio 


38  DELIA   BACON. 

omitted  as  not  his;  but  which  modern  editors 
judge  to  be  his,  either  partly  or  wholly.  Then 
the  wisest  critics  of  to-day,  with  the  keenest  sensi- 
tiveness for  Shakspere's  name,  do  not  fear  to  dis- 
cuss, as  though  they  were  not  laying  profane 
hands  on  the  ark  of  the  covenant,  the  question 
whether  one  and  another  of  the  Shakspere  plays 
are  really  his:  as  the  three  parts  of  "King  Henry 
VI."  ;  as  "Pericles";  as  "  Titus  Andronicus  "  ;  so 
that  one  critic  has  been  able  to  satisfy  himself  that 
but  five  can  be  rightly  called  his,  and  that  all 
others  are  falsely  or  mistakenly  imputed  to  him. 

While  there  was  hardly  a  play  of  them  all  to 
the  authorship  of  which  Shakspere's  title  had  not 
been  at  some  time  either  wholly  ignored  or  sharply 
questioned;  while  there  were  many  more  plays 
which  in  his  lifetime  or  for  sixty  years  afterward 
were  openly  imputed  to  him,  so  that  the  authentic 
canon  of  the  Shakspere  drama  has  always  been,  is 
now,  and  perhaps  ever  will  be  the  subject  of  fierce 
contention ;  yet  none  of  the  critics  went  so  far  as 
to  sum  up  the  several  disputations  of  all  the  critics 
by  maintaining  that  all  were  right,  at  least  in  part, 
and  that  the  play-actor  wrote  none  of  them. 

Many  readers,  indeed,  from  the  time  when  criti- 
cism began  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  found  them- 
selves confronted  with  difficulties  elsewhere  un- 
known. The  personality  of  this  dramatist  glowed 
through  his  w^ork  with  a  force  and  brightness 
found  nowhere  else  in  literature.     It  seemed,  in- 


DELIA  BACON.  39 

deed,  a  multiplied  personality.  There  was  in  it 
not  only  marvelous  insight,  but  exquisite  cultiva- 
tion and  refinement,  profound  learning,  and  a 
practical  knowledge  of  men,  of  the  world,  and  of 
affairs  such  as  all  men  were  apt  to  say  had  never 
before  been  joined  in  any  one  man.  When  Cole- 
ridge called  him  the  "  myriad-minded,"  he  simply 
put  into  a  felicitous  phrase  what  all  men  had  loYig 
been  thinking.  Many,  indeed,  had  declared  their 
wonder  that  any  one  mind  could  produce  creations 
so  diverse  in  character  as  "Julius  Caesar"  and 
"  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  as  "  The  Comedy 
of  Errors"  and  "  Macbeth."  In  general,  however, 
a  single  student  would  content  himself  with  a 
demonstration  which,  alone,  might  have  served  to 
solve  the  difficulty  found  by  every  one,  but  which, 
when  involved  with  like  demonstrations  by  others, 
only  multiplied  perplexity.  To  prove  from  the 
plays  that  their  author  must  have  been  a  lawyer, 
as  Lord  Campbell  did,  was  far  from  difficult,  and 
would  have  been  very  helpful  if  the  demonstration 
had  stood  alone.  True,  there  was  no  historical 
record  of  Shakspere's  ever  having  seen  a  law-book, 
a  court-room,  or  a  lawyer's  chambers  ;  and  there 
was  some  trouble  in  imagining  how  the  play-actor 
and  theatre-manager,  who  was  writing  immortal 
dramas  before  he  was  thirty,  and  died,  after  volu- 
minous authorship,  at  fifty-two,  could  have  ac- 
quired what  Lord  Campbell  calls  "  the  familiar, 
profound,  and  accurate  knowledge  he  displayed  of 


40  DELIA   BACON. 

juridical  principles  and  practice."  It  was  only 
making  a  wonder  more  wonderful,  however ;  and 
the  new  wonder  was  established  by  demonstration, 
and  by  the  authority  of  a  great  lawyer's  name. 
But  when  the  eminent  Dr.  Bucknill,  not  contro- 
verting the  argument  of  Lord  Campbell,  proved 
as  clearly  that  Shakspere  "  had  paid  an  amount  of 
attention  to  subjects  of  medical  interest  scarcely  if 
at  all  inferior  to  that  which  has  served  as  the 
basis"  of  the  proposition  that  he  "had  devoted 
seven  good  years  of  his  life  to  the  practice  of  law," 
he  hindered  rather  than  helped  to  understand  the 
real  life  of  the  dramatist.  So  when  another  proves 
that  in  the  few  years  before  the  play- writing  began 
the  poet,  so  well  versed  w^as  he  in  warfare,  must 
have  served  a  campaign  or  two  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries ;  another,  that  he  must  have  been  a  Roman 
Catholic  in  religion,  while  another  shows  him  to 
have  been  necessarily  a  Puritan  ;  another,  that  his 
prodigious  wealth  of  allusions  to  and  phrases  from 
the  then  untranslated  Greek  and  Latin  authors 
proves  his  broad  and  deep  erudition  ;  the  under- 
standing consents  to  one  demonstration  after  an- 
other, but  may  possibly  be  staggered  if  called  to 
accept  them  all  together.  It  might  well  be  that 
weak  souls,  invited  to  believe  so  much  of  one  man, 
sought  refuge  and  repose  in  refusing  to  believe 
even  what  would  not  otherwise  have  overtaxed 
credulity. 

There   were   other    things,   besides,   that    had 


DELIA   BACON.  41 

seemed  strange  in  the  relations  of  this  man  to  these 
plays.  No  word  or  hint  seems  ever  to  have 
escaped  him  to  show  that  he  cared  for,  or  even 
owned,  the  miraculous  offspring  which  had  fallen 
from  him.  There  is  no  word  or  syllable  in  all  the 
world  to  indicate  that  the  man  whose  multi- 
farious learning  is  the  wonder  of  the  third  century 
after  him  ever  owned  a  book,  or  ever  saw  one, 
although  he  brought  together  and  left  behind  him 
a  fair  estate.  Nor  is  there  to  be  found  in  all  the 
world,  of  this  profuse  and  voluminous  author,  of 
this  bosom-friend  of  poets  and  printers  and  actors, 
so  much  as  the  scratch  of  a  pen  on  paper,  except 
the  three  signatures  upon  his  Will,  wherein,  by  an 
interlineation  which  shows  that  he  had  at  first 
overlooked  the  wife  of  his  boyhood,  he  leaves  her 
his  "  second-best  bed."  Yet  of  his  less  famous 
contemporaries  there  are  autograph  manuscripts 
in  abundance.  Even  of  his  forerunners  by  cen- 
turies there  are  extant  writings  infinitely  more 
plenty  than  the  scanty  subscriptions  to  a  legal  in- 
strument. Petrarch  died  two  centuries  and  a  half, 
Dante  three  centuries,  before  him ;  yet  the  manu- 
scripts of  both  abound,  while  of  him  who  was 
greater  than  either,  and  was  almost  of  our  own 
time,  there  is  nothing  but  the  mean  and  sordid 
Will  to  show  that  he  ever  put  pen  to  paper. 

But  while  the  difficulty  of  fixing  the  canon  of 
the  Shakspere  text  had  long  been  such  as  to  in- 
volve the  authorship  of  every  part  of  the  text  in 


42  DELIA   BACON. 

more  or  less  doubt ;  while  all  men  had  wondered 
that  so  little  should  be  known  of  the  actual  man 
Shakspere,  and  that  what  little  was  known  should 
be  so  far  remote  from  any  ideal  one  could  form  of 
the  author  bearing  the  name :  so  that  Coleridge 
should  exclaim :  "  Are  we  to  have  miracles  in 
sport  ?  Does  God  choose  idiots  by  whom  to  con- 
vey divine  truths  to  men  ?  "  and  Emerson :  "  I 
cannot  marry  this  fact  to  his  verse.  Other  admi- 
rable men  have  led  lives  in  some  sort  of  keeping 
with  their  thought ;  but  this  man,  in  wide  con- 
trast;" yet  avowed  disbelief  went  commonly  no 
further.  Once,  it  is  true,  there  was  a  public  asser- 
tion that  Shakspere's  alleged  authorship  was  im- 
possible. In  1848  there  was  published  by  the 
Harpers,  in  New  York,  a  light  and  chatty  account 
of  a  voyage  to  Spain,  entitled  "  The  Romance  of 
Yachting,"  by  Joseph  C.  Hart.  The  incidents  of 
the  voyage  are  interspersed  with  discussions  alto- 
gether foreign  to  it ;  and  upon  a  trivial  pretext 
the  authorship  of  the  plays  is  considered,  with  no 
small  acuteness  and  vigor,  upon  the  pages  from 
208  to  243.  It  is  summarized,  however,  in  a  few 
of  the  earlier  sentences :  "  He  was  not  the  mate 
of  the  literary  characters  of  the  day,  and  none 
knew  it  better  than  himself.  It  is  a,  fraud  upon 
the  world  to  thrust  his  surreptitious  fame  upon 
us.  He  had  none  that  was  worthy  of  being  trans- 
mitted. The  inquiry  will  be,  who  were  the  able 
literary  men  who  wrote  the  dramas  imputed  to  him  f 


DELIA   BACON.  43 

The  plays  themselves,  or  rather  a  small  portion 
of  them,  will  live  as  long  as  English  literature  is 
regarded  worth  pursuit.  The  authorship  of  the 
plays  is  no  otherwise  material  to  us  than  as  a 
matter  of  curiosity,  and  to  enable  us  to  render 
exact  justice  ;  but  they  should  not  be  assigned  to 
Shakspere  alone,  if  at  all." 

If  there  be  any  merit,  therefore,  in  having  been 
the  first  to  doubt  this  authorship,  it  cannot  be 
awarded  to  Delia  Bacon.  There  is  no  reason,  how- 
ever, to  believe  that  the  speculations  which  have 
just  been  quoted  ever  came  to  her  knowledge. 
The  ideas,  or  fancies,  which  soon  after  this  pos- 
sessed her,  were,  as  she  profoundly  believed,  her 
own  discovery  —  indeed,  she  would  rather  have 
said,  a  revelation  direct  to  her. 

Revelation,  discovery,  or  fancy,  however, — 
whatever  it  was,  an  utterly  subordinate  part  of  it 
all,  though  an  essential  part,  was  that  which  con- 
cerned merely  the  authorship  of  the  plays.  If 
they  were  indeed,  as  they  had  been  commonly  re- 
ceived, a  casual  collection  of  stage-plays,  knocked 
together  by  a  money-making  play-actor,  play- 
wright, and  theatre-manager  for  the  money  there 
was  in  them  and  to  be  got  out  of  them,  it  was  a 
trivial  question  by  what  name  the  playwright 
should  be  called  ;  it  should  not  tax  credulity  to 
"marry  this  fact  to  his  verse,"  however  fine  the 
verse  might  be,  if  they  were  nothing  more  than 
verse.     But  to  her,  studying  the  plays  with  a  keen- 


44  DELIA   BACON. 

ness  of  natural  insight  and  a  burning  intensity 
which  have  not  often  been  appHed  to  them,  much 
more  than  splendid  poesy  began  to  gleam  within 
them.  Finding  in  them  a  higher  philosophy,  even, 
than  in  the  "Advancement  of  Learning,"  a  broader 
statesmanship,  a  profounder  jurisprudence,  and, 
above  all,  a  bolder  courage  than  in  all  the  avowed 
writings  of  the  great  Chancellor,  she  only  obeyed 
the  teachings  of  that  Inductive  System  which  he 
had  expounded,  in  seeking  an  adequate  authorship 
for  so  magnificent  a  creation.  But  that  all  these 
things  were  in  the  plays  —  this  was  the  main  fact 
that  concerned  her ;  this  was  what  she  cared  to 
discover  first  for  herself,  and  then  to  communicate 
to  the  world.  If  indeed  she  found  them  there,  it 
could  not  but  follow,  as  the  night  the  day,  that 
some  better  paternity  must  be  admitted  for  the 
plays  than  that  of  Lord  Leicester's  groom. 

Nor  was  it  enough  for  her  to  discover  bits  and 
gleams  of  philosophy  and  political  science  in  the 
plays,  however  frequent  or  brilHant.  To  her 
eager  inquiry  they  came  to  be  revealed  at  last, 
not  as  fortuitously  collected  though  mutually  unre- 
lated plays,  but  as  an  entire  dramatic  system,  in 
which  the  New  Philosophy  was  to  be  inculcated  in 
unsuspicious  minds,  under  the  vehement  despotism 
of  the  last  Tudor  and  the  dull  pedantic  oppression 
of  the  first  Stuart.  If  the  plays  were  really  such 
a  system  of  philosophic  teaching,  not  only  was  it 
difficult  to  accept  the   competency  for  it  of  the 


DELIA   BACON.  45 

Stratford  poacher  and  London  horse-boy;  it  was 
hardly  less  trying  to  credulity  to  impute  so  vast 
an  enterprise,  added  to  all  the  gigantic  intellec- 
tual labors  which  he  avowed,  even  to  the  greatest 
Englishman  of  his  age.  She  judged,  therefore, 
that  as  there  had  been  collaboration  before  and 
since  in  literary  work,  so  here  the  most  brilliant 
and  philosophic  minds  of  the  Elizabethan  Court 
cooperated  in  the  work  which  was  too  great  for 
one,  and  consented  together,  for  their  common 
safety,  to  the  imputation  of  their  united  work  to 
the  theatre-manager  who  brought  out  the  plays, 
and  whose  property  they  were  because  they  had 
been  given  to  him. 

Keasons  why  these  courtiers  and  politicians  — 
Bacon,  Kaleigh,  Spenser,  and  whatever  others 
made  up  the  illustrious  coterie  —  should  not  have 
wished  to  acknowledge  the  work  of  which  they 
might  well  have  boasted,  were  not  far  to  seek.  It 
comported  ill  with  dignity  of  rank  and  place  to  be 
known  as  a  writer  of  plays :  but  to  be  known  to 
such  a  queen  as  Elizabeth,  or  to  such  a  king  as 
James,  as  author  of  such  plays  as  "  Coriolanus  " 
or  "  Julius  CaBsar  "  —  the  eager  ambition  of  Ba- 
con would  have  been  quenched  by  it  long  before 
the  day  when  his  office  was  wanted  for  Williams  ; 
upon  Raleigh,  living  for  fifteen  years  under  his 
unexecuted  death  sentence,  the  headsman's  axe 
would  have  fallen  earlier  than  it  did. 

But  while  Delia  Bacon  thoroughly  believed  that 


46  DELIA  BACON. 

such  a  worthy  coterie,  and  not  the  unworthy 
player,  produced  the  EHzabethan  drama,  and  hid 
in  it  the  philosophy  which  it  would  have  been  fatal 
to  publish  openly  ;  and  while  she  was  no  less  sure 
that  in  some  cryptic  form  there  was  truth  involved 
in  these  works  which  was  yet  to  be  surrendered  to 
faithful  and  intelligent  study,  it  is  scant  justice  to 
her  memory  to  say,  that,  as  the  mere  authorship  of 
the  plays  was  to  her  but  a  small  part  of  the  truth 
concerning  them,  so  she  never  devoted  herself  to 
whims  or  fancies  about  capital  letters,  or  irregular 
pagination,  or  acrostics,  or  anagrams,  as  conceal- 
ing yet  expressing  the  great  philosophy  which  the 
plays  inclosed.  Her  mind,  it  now  appears,  was 
already  overwrought;  before  many  months  it 
gave  way  completely ;  but  its  unsoundness,  when- 
ever it  may  have  begun,  never  assumed  that  form. 


VIL 

It  is  not  easy  —  and  perhaps  it  is  not  important 
—  to  determine  just  when  disbelief  in  the  accepted 
authorship  of  the  Shakspere  plajs  established  itself 
absolutely  in  her  mind.  Certainly  in  1852,  while 
she  was  delivering  her  instruction  in  Cambridge 
with  singular  success,  she  had  startled  some  of 
those  who  knew  her  best  by  her  audacious  utter- 
ances on  the  subject.  To  Mrs.  Professor  Farrar, 
whose  reminiscences  have  been  already  quoted,^ 
she  then  expressed  a  desire  to  visit  England,  not, 
it  seems,  for  historical  study,  but,  as  Mrs.  Farrar 
remembers,  "  to  obtain  proof  of  the  truth  of  her 
theory  that  Shakspere  did  not  write  the  plays  at- 
tributed to  him."  The  intimations  thus  thrown 
out  met,  indeed,  only  with  compassionate  discour- 
agement there.  The  two  or  three  ladies  who  alone 
seem  to  have  heard  them  were  wholly  without 
sympathy  for  them,  and  regarding  them  even  as 
indications  that  might  in  time  become  monomania, 
sedulously  avoided  all  speech  with  her  upon  the 
subject  thereafter. 

In  the  same  year,  1852,  however,  she  entered 
upon  an  acquaintance  and  correspondence  which 

1  Supra,  pp.  28-30. 


48  DELIA   BACON. 

acted  far  otherwise  upon  her  fancy  and  her  pur- 
poses and  hopes  than  the  chilHng  avoidance  of  the 
subject  by  the  two  or  tliree  ladies  of  Cambridge, 
friends  and  admirers  though  they  were.  Just  by 
what  formaUty  of  introduction  she  first  communi- 
cated with  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  does  not  appear ; 
but  Cambridge  was  not  far  from  Concord,  even 
upon  the  map ;  and  it  was  still  nearer  in  spirit,  at 
least  in  those  days.  The  letter  with  which  she 
opened  correspondence,  if  it  existed,  would  be  her 
earliest  writing  on  the  subject.  It  must  have  been 
just  before  the  12th  of  June,  1852 ;  but  as  in  Au- 
gust she  asks  him  to  return  it  to  her,  speaking  of  it 
as  a  "  voluminous  note,"  it  is  not  among  her  other 
letters  to  Emerson.^  The  answer  to  it,  however, 
was  certainly  not  such  as  to  silence  or  repel  her. 

Concord,  12  June,  1852. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon",  —  Your  letter  was  duly 
received,  and  its  contents  deserved  better  leisure 
and  apprehension  than  I  have  at  once  been  able  to 
command.  The  only  alternative  w^as  to  let  it  wait 
a  little,  for  a  good  hour.  And  now  I  write,  only 
that  I  may  assure  you  it  has  been  received  and 
is  appreciated.  In  the  office  to  which  you  have 
in  the  contingency  appointed  me,  of  critic,  I  am 

^I  beg  leave  to  acknowledge  Uie  courtesy  of  Mr.  Emerson's  family, 
and  of  his  literary  executor,  Mr.  J.  Elliot  Cabot,  in  delivering  to  me 
all  Miss  Bacon's  letters  to  him,  neatly  folded  and  docketed  by  his 
own  hand,  and  in  formally  acquiescing  in  the  publication  of  all  his 
letters  to  her,  after  inspection  of  copies  of  them.  —  T.  B. 


DELIA   BACON.  49 

deeply  gratified  to  observe  the  power  of  state- 
ment and  the  adequateness  to  the  problem,  which 
this  sketch  of  your  argument  evinces.  Indeed,  I 
value  these  fine  weapons  far  above  any  special  use 
they  may  be  put  to.  And  you  will  have  need  of 
enchanted  instruments,  nay,  alchemy  itself,  to 
melt  into  one  identity  these  two  reputations  (shall 
I  call  them  ?)  the  poet  and  the  statesman,  both 
hitherto  solid  historical  figures.  If  the  cipher  ap- 
prove itself  so  real  and  consonant  to  you,  it  will  to 
all,  and  is  not  only  material  but  indispensable  to 
your  peace.  And  it  would  seem  best  that  so  radi- 
cal a  revolution  should  be  proclaimed  with  great 
compression  in  the  declaration,  and  the  real 
grounds  pretty  rapidly  set  forth,  a  good  ground 
in  each  chapter,  and  preliminary  generalities  quite 
omitted.  For  there  is  an  immense  presumption 
against  us  which  is  to  be  annihilated  by  battery  as 
fast  as  possible.  And  now  for  the  execution  of 
the  design.  If  you  will  send  me  your  first  chap- 
ter, I  will  at  once  make  my  endeavor  to  put  it 
into  the  best  channel  I  can  find,  "  Blackwood  "  or 
"  Fraser  "  I  think  the  best.  But  this,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  you  decide  on  trying  your  fortune 
in  a  magazine  first,  —  which,  I  suppose,  is  fame, 
rather  than  fortune.  On  most  accounts,  the  eligi- 
ble way  is,  as  I  think,  the  hook  or  brochure,  pub- 
lished simultaneously  in  England  and  here.  I  am 
not  without  good  hope  of  accepting  your  kind  in- 
vitation to  visit  you  in  Cambridge,  though  I  very 


50  DELIA   BACON. 

rarely  get  so  far  from  home,  where  I  am  detained 
by  a  truly  ridiculous  complication  of  cobwebs. 
With  great  respect,  yours  faithfully, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  Bacon. 

P.  S.  What  is  the  allusion  in  the  "  Literary 
World  "  of  last  week  to  criticism  on  Shakespeare  ? 
Does  it  touch  us,  or  some  other  ? 

What  the  "  theory  "  was  which  had  been  set 
forth  in  the  missing  first  letter  can  be  determined 
only  inferentially.  But  though  it  would  seem 
from  an  expression  in  the  foregoing  letter  to  have 
emphasized  especially  the  supposed  relation  of 
Bacon  to  the  plays,  it  is  fair  to  beUeve  that  her 
theory  was  here,  as  everywhere  in  her  writing 
and  speaking  afterwards,  a  theory  of  plural  author- 
ship, so  far  as  mere  authorship  was  concerned. 
This  is  her  next  letter,  so  far  as  appears,  to  Emer- 
son : 

Cambridge,  August  4  [1852]. 

Dear  Sir,  —  Confirmations  of  my  theory,  which 
I  did  not  expect  to  find  on  this  side  of  the  water, 
have  turned  up  since  my  last  communication  to 
you,  in  the  course  of  my  researches  in  the  libra- 
ries here  and  in  Boston.  But  I  am  going  to  leave 
Cambridge  in  a  few  days,  and  if  it  is  not  too  much 
trouble,  I  wish  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  inclose 
to  me,  by  the  next  mail,  my  voluminous  note  to 
you  on  this  subject.     I  think  it  is  possible  that  I 


DELIA   BACON.  51 

may  be  able  to  make  some  use  of  it,  while  I  am 
quite  sure  of  its  being  good  for  nothing  to  you. 
Very  truly  yours,  Delia  S.  Bacon. 

Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson. 

But  while  she  was  forming  such  new  and  help- 
ful friendships  as  this  one,  kindly  tolerant,  if  not 
more,  of  her  great  idea,  she  was  finding,  as  she 
thought,  foes  of  her  own  household.  A  letter  to 
her  oldest  brother,  dated  that  same  month,  makes 
it  plain  that  she  had  broached  her  theory  to  him 
also;  that  his  grave,  cool  judgment  had  refused  to 
entertain  it,  and  that  frankly  and  with  force,  as 
his  nature  was,  he  had  so  declared,  dissuading  her 
from  cherishing  it,  as  a  delirious  fancy.  But  his 
remonstrances  had  only  the  effect  to  estrange  her, 
for  the  few  remaining  years  of  her  life,  from  that 
relative  who  had  always  been  her  most  helpful, 
judicious,  and  affectionate  friend. 

From  the  village  of  Cuba,  in  Western  New 
York,  where  she  was  visiting  a  sister,  she  wrote  to 
Emerson,  September  30,  1852  : 

"It  is  certainly  very  extraordinary  that  the 
generous  expressions  of  sympathy  and  interest 
which  your  last  two  letters  contain  should  remain 
so  long  unacknowledged,  and  that,  too,  when  I 
have  all  the  time  been  so  deeply  sensible  of  the 
kindness  which  dictated  them.  ...  I  know  very 
well  what   a   presuming  step  it  was   to   intrude 


52  DELIA   BACON. 

these  speculations  upon  such  time  as  yours,  and 
what  an  embarrassing  responsibility  it  was  to 
throw  upon  one  so  preoccupied.  For  I  suppose 
that  no  previous  familiarity  with  the  Shakespeare 
writings  would  qualify  one  to  decide  this  question 
satisfactorily  without  much  revision  and  scrutiny, 
not  only  of  these  works  themselves,  but  of  all  that 
appertains  to  the  subject.  I  think  most  persons 
in  these  circumstances  would  have  dismissed  the 
question  without  much  consideration ;  and  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  any  one  else  in  the  world  who 
could  have  met  it,  under  all  the  disadvantages 
which  attended  its  introduction  to  you,  as  you 
have  done,  —  with  such  brave  decision,  —  with 
such  generous  discrimination.  ...  I  have  been 
constantly  wishing  and  intending  to  adopt  your 
suggestion  in  reference  to  a  summary  statement 
on  the  subject,  but  since  the  arrival  of  this  last 
quite  unexpected  proof  of  your  regard  I  have  not 
been  well  enough  to  accomplish  even  this. 

"  I  had  intended  to  remain  here  in  this  rude 
little  town,  which  you  never  heard  of  before  I 
suppose,  until  I  had  quite  finished  the  statement  I 
had  before  commenced,  for  I  have  a  sister  here, 
whose  home,  be  it  where  it  will,  is  always  mine. 
But  I  find  I  cannot  persist  in  this  resolution,  for 
it  would  be  merely  suicidal.  This  study  is  so  very 
absorbing,  and  it  consigns  me  to  such  complete 
solitude,  that  I  find  all  my  progress  in  it  is  made 
at  a  most  ruinous  expense  to  my  life  and  health ; 


DELIA   BACON.  53 

while  those  which  I  pursue  with  my  classes  have 
just  the  contrary  effect  upon  me.  Indeed  but  for 
this  resource  I  think  I  should  have  died  long  ago. 
I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  reluctance  I  relinquish 
it  again.  My  only  consolation  is  that  I  cannot 
help  it.  The  choice  is  not  mine.  I  am  not  dis- 
couraged, but  sometimes  I  think  if  I  can  only 
succeed  in  committing  the  work  effectually  to 
stronger  hands  it  is  all  I  ought  to  think  of. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  researches  last  summer  I 
found,  quite  unexpectedly,  a  very  clear  historical 
basis  for  the  conclusions  which  my  Shakspere 
study  had  forced  upon  me.  I  found,  too,  the  most 
astounding  corroborations,  to  the  minutest  partic- 
ulars, of  new  versions  of  contemporary  events, 
which  I  had  rejected  in  the  cipher,  on  account  of 
their  disagreement  with  what  I  supposed  to  be 
well  authenticated  historic  fact.  Be  assured, 
dear  sir,  there  is  no  possibility  of  a  doubt  as  to  the 
main  points  of  my  theory.  What  was  wrong  in  it 
came  from  my  attempts  to  patch  over,  and  recon- 
cile with  what  I  knew  before,  things  which  seemed 
to  me  impossible.  Whether  I  live  to  accomplish 
it,  or  not,  a  little  investigation  in  the  right  direc- 
tion will  demonstrate  that  these  marvelous  phenom- 
ena, so  unlike  all  other  human  works,  are  after 
all  not  wholly  miraculous  —  not  of  the  air  merely. 
Properly  traced,  according  to  that  law  of  investi- 
gation which  requires  causes  for  effects,  they  will 
prove  the  index  to  a  piece  of  history  which  glis- 


64  DELIA   BACON. 

tens  out  even  now  very  plainly  from  the  contem- 
porary historical  documents,  though  it  has  not  yet 
found  its  way  into  the  story  constructed  from 
them.  .  .  .  Most  gratefully  yours, 

Delia  S.  Bacon." 

At  the  close  of  the  following  November  she  be- 
gan, at  the  Stuyvesant  Institute  in  New  York,  a 
course  of  historical  instruction  —  "  lessons,  rather 
than  lectures  "  —  to  ladies.  A  copy  of  the  printed 
prospectus,  with  commendations  from  Washington 
Irving  and  George  Bancroft  among  others,  is 
found  carefully  indorsed  and  preserved  among 
Emerson's  papers.  This  was  followed,  upon 
most  flattering  solicitation,  by  a  similar  course  of 
evening  lessons  at  the  same  place,  on  "  The  Ori- 
gin of  the  Oriental  Element  in  our  Civilization  "  ; 
and  to  this,  gentlemen,  as  well  as  ladies,  were 
admitted.  Upon  like  invitation  from  Brooklyn 
a  series  of  lessons  began  there,  "  at  Professor 
Gray's  Lecture  Room,  90  Montague  Place,"  Feb- 
ruary 17,  1853  ;  and  when  this  ended,  her  life 
among  men  and  women  was  closed. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  however,  there  are  signs 
that  she  is  intent  upon  the  work  to  which  she  was 
prepared  to  dedicate  what  remained  to  her  of  life 
and  strength.  Among  the  warmest  and  most  ad- 
miring of  the  friends  she  had  made  at  Boston  and 
Cambridge  was  Miss  Elizabeth  P.  Peabody,  whose 
sister  was  the  wife  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.     It  is 


DELIA   BACON.  55 

to  her  that  the  following  note,  which  soon  found 
its  way  to  the  subject  of  it,  was  addressed. 

Concord,  26  March,  1853. 

Deae  Miss  Peabody,  —  I  send  you  a  letter  for 
Mr.  Putnam,  which,  if  you  like,  you  shall  send,  if 
you  dislike,  and  want  another,  you  shall  burn,  and 
tell  me  so.  I  talked  with  Hawthorne  who  did  not 
seem  to  think  that  he  was  the  person ;  but  if  Miss 
Bacon  would  really  come  to  Concord,  and  board 
with  Mrs.  Adams,  as,  I  doubt  not,  is  practicable, 
we  would  make  him  listen,  and  she  should  make 
him  believe.  With  my  kindest  salutations  and 
respects  to  Miss  Bacon,  your  ever  obliged  servt. 

R.  W.  Emeesgis'. 

At  the  end  of  this  letter  Mr.  Emerson  adds  : 
"  I  can  really  think  of  nothing  that  could  give 
such  eclat  to  a  magazine  as  this  brilliant  paradox." 


VIII. 

If  there  were  none  of  her  own  blood  to  receive 
with  favor  the  strange  notions  which  she  had  now 
begun  to  avow,  there  was  elsewhere  no  lack  of 
sympathy,  encouragement,  and  aid.  To  Mrs.  Farrar 
she  had  already  intimated  her  strong  desire  to  pros- 
ecute in  England  researches  in  support  of  her 
hypothesis  which  would  be  impossible  elsewhere. 
The  help,  indispensable  for  this  purpose,  which  her 
own  family  neither  could  nor,  to  her  strong  resent- 
ment, would  afford  was  offered  during  her  last 
season  of  instruction  in  New  York  by  a  gentleman 
of  large  wealth  and  high  standing  in  every  way, 
whose  name,  however,  was  long  unknown  to  her 
relatives,  Mr.  Charles  Butler. 

On  the  2d  of  April,  1853,  she  announced  to  her 
brother,  in  a  letter  of  not  unkindly  tone,  her  ex- 
pectation of  "  going  to  England  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  myself  ready,"  but  with  no  intimation  of  her 
purpose  in  going,  or  of  the  source  of  her  means  for 
going.  "  All  that  I  can  say  is  that  the  money  I 
appropriate  to  that  object  could  not  be  honorably 
appropriated  to  any  other.  I  have  ample  means 
placed  at  my  disposal,  and  shall  go  so  supported  as 
to  be  able  to  command  whatever  attention  I  may 


DELIA   BACON.  57 

need.  ...  I  cannot  tell  how  long  I  shall  be  absent ; 
perhaps  five  or  six  months.  My  plans  do  not  reach 
beyond  England  at  present." 

Emerson's  letter  to  Mr.  Putnam  the  publisher, 
over  which  he  had  given  Miss  Peabody  such  broad 
discretion,  she  had  evidently  "  liked  "  and  "  sent." 
For  on  the  14th  of  April  Delia  Bacon  wrote  to 
Emerson  from  Brooklyn  :  "  Your  letter  to  Mr.  Put- 
nam was  all  that  I  could  have  desired.  It  was  in- 
deed most  truly  kind.  I  cannot  be  satisfied  with- 
out attempting  to  thank  you  for  it,  but  I  do  not 
know  how  to  do  it  adequately.  I  can  only  hope 
that  you  will  find  your  generous  interest  in  the 
subject  justified  by  the  result."  And  then  she 
shows  him  how  his  letter  to  Mr.  Putnam,  and  Mr. 
Putnam's  proposal  induced  by  it,  —  a  proposal,  in- 
deed, which  she  had  felt  obliged  to  decline,  —  had 
so  impressed  a  friend  that  he  had  resolved  to 
provide  her  with  the  means  for  her  journey. 
Emerson's  answer  and  the  letter  of  farewell  that 
followed  her  to  the  steamer  are  these : 

Concord,  13  April,  1853. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  was  cordially  grati- 
fied by  the  good  news  your  note  contained,  that 
you  were  going  forward  with  your  studies,  and 
really  decided  to  prosecute  them  in  England ;  and 
I  was  not  a  little  flattered  by  being  made  however 
accidentally  and  insignificantly  a  party  to  the 
transaction.     I  am  glad  also  that  you  will  trust  me 


58  DELIA   BACON. 

farther  with  insights  of  your  results.  By  all  means, 
let  it  be  so  !  And,  by  all  means  do  you  go  forward 
to  the  speediest  comjDletion  !  Now  let  me  not  fail 
of  my  communication.  I  grieve  very  often  — 
seldom  so  much  as  now  —  at  the  disheartening 
infirmities  and  invalidity  of  my  wife,  which  makes 
it  most  part  of  the  time  quite  out  of  question  to 
invite  any  worthy  mortal  to  visit  my  house.  I  do 
not  know  that  I  can  come  to  New  York,  —  and 
yet  I  am  not  sure  but  I  shall  make  the  time  to  do 
so,  if  there  is  no  other  way.  But,  if  you  are  coming 
to  Boston  or  Cambridge  before  your  departure, 
have  the  goodness  to  apprise  me  now  of  the  fact, 
and  when,  and  where.  In  assured  hope  and  with 
constant  respect,         Yours, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  Bacon. 

Concord,  12  May,  1853. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  wrote  to  Sumner, 
but  have  as  yet  no  answer.  Perhaps  he  has 
directed  his  answer,  as  I  suggested,  to  Mr.  Butler. 
I  enclose  a  letter  to  Mr.  Martineau,  to  whom,  if 
you  have  good  opportunity,  I  think  I  would  frankly 
open  the  general  design  of  your  inquiries ;  but  you 
will  judge  best  on  seeing  him.  I  send  a  letter 
also  for  Carlyle,  to  find  Spedding.  I  think  I  will 
write  myself  again  to  Carlyle,  as  I  shall  need,  per- 
haps, in  a  few  days.  I  enclose  a  letter  to  John 
Chapman.     Perhaps  you  will  find  his  house  a  good 


DELIA   BACON.  59 

home  for  you,  in  London.     I  took  rooms  and  board 
there,  and  was  well  accommodated. 

I  have  not  yet  written,  for  want  of  time  and  a 
little  mountain  to  get  over  to  write  to  him,  —  to 
Helps.  Leave  me  your  London  address,  and  I 
will  yet  write.  Mrs.  Emerson  is  mortified  at  her 
heedlessness  in  putting  you  to  sleep  in  a  chamber 
certain  to  be  disturbed  by  too- early-rising  washers 
in  the  night.  She  never  remembered  it  would  be 
so,  nor  thought  of  it  till  next  day.  But  Fare  well 
and  fare  gloriously  !     With  best  hope, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  Bacon. 

On  the  14th  of  May,  1853,  she  sailed  from  New 
York  in  the  steamer  "  Pacific,"  and  arrived  in  Liv- 
erpool on  the  Queen's  birthday,  the  24th. 


IX. 

England  must  have  been  a  very  strange  land 
to  the  lonely  woman  who  then  first  touched  its 
shore.  In  almost  five  years  which  she  afterwards 
passed  there  she  did  but  little  to  enlarge  her 
acquaintance.  Of  the  letters  of  introduction  which 
she  bore,  some  are  found  unused  among  her 
papers :  as  one  to  Arthur  Helps,  from  Emerson  ; 
one  to  Sir  Henry  Ellis,  principal  Librarian  of  the 
British  Museum ;  one  (from  Edward  Everett)  to 
Mr.  A.  Panizzi,  chief  of  the  Printed  Book  Depart- 
ment. But  she  was  not  long,  after  going  at  once 
to  London,  in  beginning,  by  the  help  of  one  of 
Emerson's  letters,  the  friendship  with  Carlyle  and 
his  wife,  which  was  to  bring  her  much  kindness  and 
comfort  in  her  solitude.  This  seems  to  be  an 
answer  to  the  letter  of  introduction : 

5  Gt.  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  8  June,  1853. 

My  dear  Madam,  —  Will  you  kindly  dispense 
with  the  ceremony  of  being  called  on  (by  sickly 
people,  in  this  hot  weather),  and  come  to  us  on 
Friday  evening  to  tea  at  7.  I  will  try  to  secure 
Mr.  Spedding  at  the  same  time  ;  and  we  will  delib- 
erate what  is  to  be  done  in  your  Shakspere  afiair. 


DELIA   BACON.  61 

A  river  steamer  will  bring  you  within  a  gunshot 
of  us.  You  pronounce  "  Chainie  "  Row  ;  and  get 
out  at  Cadogan  Pier,  which  is  your  first  landing 

place   in    Chelsea. Except   Mrs.    C.    and  the 

chance  of  Spedding,  there   will  be  nobody  here. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

T.  Caklyle. 

And  this  followed  it  at  no  long  interval : 

Chelsea,  14  June,  1853. 

My  dear  Madam,  —  Mr.  Collier,  it  seems,  does 
not  habitually  reside  in  Town  at  present ;  but 
comes  from  time  to  time.  If  you  forward  the 
inclosed  Note  to  him,  merely  adjoining  your  own 
card  with  your  address  on  it,  I  am  given  to  expect 
he  will  appoint  some  day  to  call  on  you,  and  have 
some  talk  about  the  Shakspere  affair.  I  do  not 
know  Mr.  Collier ;  the  writer  of  that  Note  is  John 
Forster  (Editor  of  the  "Examiner,"  &c.,  &c.),  a 
friend  of  his  and  mine. 

Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  of  whom  you  may 
have  heard,  wishes  to  see  your  Paper  on  Shak- 
spere which  is  now  in  my  hands ;  if  you  give  me 
permission,  I  will  send  it  to  him ;  not  otherwise. 

My  Wife  reports  the  finding  of  a  beautiful 
Pockethandkerchief  which  was  left  by  you  here ; 
she  keeps  it  safe  against  your  return  to  us,  —  not 
a  distant  date,  as  we  hope.  Any  day  at  3  p.  m., 
(or  most  days),  I  am  to  be  found  here ;  my  wife, 


62  DELIA   BACON. 

on  fine  days,  is  not  certain,  I  apprehend,  after   1 
p.  M. ;    and    very  generally  in    the    evenings    we 
are  quietly  at  home.     Believe  me,  Dear  Madam, 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Some  account  of  the  visit  invited  by  Carlyle's 
letter  of  June  8,  and  referred  to  in  that  of  the 
14th,  is  given  with  familiar  confidence  to  her  sis- 
ter, under  date  of  several  weeks  later. 

"  My  visit  to  Mr.  Carlyle  was  very  rich.  I  wish 
you  could  have  heard  him  laugh.  Once  or  twice 
I  thought  he  would  have  taken  the  roof  of  the 
house  oft".  At  first  they  were  perfectly  stunned  — 
he  and  the  gentleman  he  had  invited  to  meet  me. 
They  turned  black  in  the  face  at  my  presumption. 
*  Do  you  mean  to  say,'  so  and  so,  said  Mr.  Carlyle, 
with  his  strong  emphasis ;  and  I  said  that  I  did  ; 
and  they  both  looked  at  me  with  staring  eyes, 
speechless  for  want  of  words  in  which  to  convey 
their  sense  of  my  audacity.  At  length  Mr.  Car- 
lyle came  down  on  me  with  such  a  volley.  I  did 
not  mind  it  the  least.  I  told  him  he  did  not  know 
what  was  in  the  Plays  if  he  said  that,  and  no  one 
could  know  who  believed  that  that  booby  wrote 
them.  It  was  then  that  he  began  to  shriek.  You 
could  have  heard  him  a  mile.  I  told  him  too  that 
I  should  not  think  of  questioning  his  authority  in 
such  a  case  if  it  were  not  with  me  a  matter  of 


DELIA   BACON.  63 

knowledge.  I  did  not  advance  it  as  an  opinion. 
They  began  to  be  a  little  moved  with  my  coolness 
at  length,  and  before  the  meeting  was  over  they 
agreed  to  hold  themselves  in  a  state  of  readiness 
to  receive  what  I  had  to  say  on  the  subject.  I 
left  my  introductory  statement  with  him.  In  the 
course  of  two  or  three  days  he  wrote  to  me  to  ask 
permission  to  show  my  paper  to  Mr.  Monckton 
Milnes,  who  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  it,  invit- 
ing me  to  come  there  again  very  soon.  He  told 
me  I  had  left  a  beautiful  handkerchief  there  which 
Mrs.  Carlyle  would  keep  till  I  came.  He  also 
enclosed  to  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Col- 
lier, which  he  had  taken  the  pains  to  obtain  for 
me  from  another  literary  gentleman.  I  have  not 
yet  sent  it.     That  was  five  weeks  ago." 

[Carltle  to  D.  B.] 

Chelsea,  12  August,  1853. 

My  dear  Madam, — Here  is  the  Panizzi  letter, 
which  I  did  not  shew  to  Milnes,  as  quite  superflu- 
ous in  his  actual  state  of  knowledge  about  you ; 
and  will  now  return  to  avoid  risks  of  losing  it. 

I  yesterday  delivered  your  Paper  to  Parker  the 
Publisher  of  "  Fraser's  Magazine," — with  such  a 
testimony  about  it  as  you  desired  ;  name,  country, 
sex,  all  is  left  dark  ;  and  Parker's  free  judgment 
of  the  MSS.,  "  Fit  for  '  Fraser,'  or  not  fit  ?  "  is  the 
one  thing  he  is  requested  to  deliberate  upon,  and 
then  pronounce  to  us. You,  of  course,  shall 


64  DELIA   BACON. 

hear  of  it  the  instant  it  arrives  here ;  which  ought 
to  be  in  some  two  or  three  weeks ;  probably 
early  next  month,  for  I  think  the  September  No. 
must  be  already  made  up  and  in  the  Printer's 
hands.  We  will  not  anticipate  his  verdict ;  he  is  a 
clever  little  fellow  {our  "  clever,"  and  yours  too,  I 
believe) ;  and  his  voice  will  in  some  considerable 
degree  represent  for  us  that  of  the  "  reading 
public  "  of  England. 

On  Wednesday  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  printed 
Harley  MSS.  Catalogue,  which  I  spoke  of  your 
buying,  lies  for  consultation  on  its  table  in  the 
Museum;  and  that  you  can  examine  it  to  all 
lengths,  either  as  a  preliminary  or  as  a  final  meas- 
ure.   If  you  can  find  in  that  mass  of  English 

records  (the  main  collection  that  exists)  any  docu- 
ment tending  to  confirm  your  Shakspere  theory, 
it  will  be  worth  all  the  reasoning  in  the  world,  and 
will  certainly  surprise  all  men. 

Finally  come  and  see  us,  whenever  it  is  not  dis- 
agreeable, —  without  misgiving,  in  spite  of  nerves  ! 
Almost  every  evening  we  are  both  of  us  at  home 
(tea  at  7) ;  and  at  3  any  day  I  am  visible  here. 

Believe  me,  Dear  Madam, 

Yours  very  sincerely,         T.  Caelyle. 

The  impression  made  by  this  lonely  stranger  on 
Carlyle  is  not  to  be  learned  from  his  letters  to  her 
alone.  In  September  of  this  year  he  wrote  thus 
to  her  introducer,  Emerson  :    ''  As  for  Miss  Bacon, 


DELIA   BACON.  65 

we  find  her,  with  her  modest  shy  dignity,  with  her 
soUd  character  and  strange  enterprise,  a  real  ac- 
quisition ;  and  hope  we  shall  now  see  more  of  her, 
now  that  she  has  come  nearer  to  us  to  lodge.  I 
have  not  in  my  life  seen  anything  so  tragically 
quixotic  as  her  Shakspere  enterprise ;  alas,  alas, 
there  can  be  nothing  but  sorrow,  toil,  and  utter 
disappointment  in  it  for  her!  I  do  cheerfully 
what  I  can,  — which  is  far  more  than  she  asks  of 
me  (for  I  have  not  seen  a  prouder  silent  soul) ;  but 
there  is  not  the  least  possibility  of  truth  in  the 
notion  she  has  taken  up  ;  and  the  hope  of  ever 
proving  it,  or  finding  the  least  document  that 
countenances  it,  is  equal  to  that  of  vanquishing 
the  windmills  by  stroke  of  lance.  I  am  often  truly 
sorry  about  the  poor  lady ;  but  she  troubles 
nobody  with  her  difficulties,  with  her  theories  ;  she 
must  try  the  matter  to  the  end,  and  charitable 
souls  must  further  her  so  far."  ^ 

There  is  little  among  her  papers  to  show  where 
she  was  living  during  this  year,  1853,  except  that 
it  was  in  London,  and  in  lodgings  to  which  the 
friendly  guidance  of  George  Peabody  had  directed 
her.  She  changed  them  indeed,  as  this  next  letter 
shows ;  and,  with  the  almost  fierce  pride  which  was 
innate  to  her,  was  so  far  from  presuming  upon  the 
affectionate  hospitality  which  the  Carlyles  were 
urging  upon  her,  that  she  did  not  even  tell  them 
of  her  removals. 

^  Correspondence  of  Carlyle  and  Emerson,  vol.  ii.  228-9. 


66  DELIA   BACON. 

The  Grange,  Alresford,  Hants, 
(The  Lord  Ashburton's),  10  December,  1853. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  We  are  here  since  Mon- 
day, on  a  visit,  and  are  not  to  be  in  Chelsea  again 
till  Christmas  pass. 

Some  days  before  leaving,  I  received  from  Par- 
ker a  Parcel,  with  which  his  man  appeared  to  have 
tried  first  at  your  old  Chelsea  lodging ;  my  ad- 
dress had  then  been  put  upon  the  cover ;  it  con- 
tained your  MS.  and  an  open  letter  to  Miss  Bacon, 
full  of  the  due  civility,  admiring,  regretting,  &c., 
and  in  fine  returning  the  offered  Paper.  As  you 
say,  he  might  have  decided  sooner !  I  found  that 
the  smallest  urging  on  my  part  would  have  made 
him  insert  the  Piece  ;  but  this  you  had  prohibited  ; 
nor  do  I  know  that  it  was  any  way  desirable ;  at 
any  rate,  here  now  is  his  decision,  and  with  him 
we  have  done.  Not  knowing  your  new  address, 
I  locked  the  Parcel  into  a  safe  place ;  and  there, 
were  Christmas  over,  it  will  lie  awaiting  your  con- 
venience, and  can  be  sent  at  any  time. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  from  my  wife  of  your  head- 
aches and  distresses  in  that  solitary  place ;  I  hope 
you  will  appear  again  some  morning  soon  after 
our  return,  and  shew  Chelsea  that  those  were  but 
temporary  clouds.  Pray  be  not  so  shy  of  us ! 
We  cannot  much  help  you,  indeed ;  but  there  is 
no  want  of  will,  were  a  possibility  offered. 
Believe  me  always, 

Yours  sincerely,  T.  Carlyle. 


DELIA   BACON.  67 

On  the  last  day  of  November,  1853,  she  took 
lodgings  at  St.  Albans,  attracted,  no  doubt,  by  its 
association  with  the  great  Chancellor,  to  whom  it 
gave  a  title  and  a  tomb.  It  was  during  her  stay 
there  that  she  sought  through  Sir  Edward  Bulwer 
Lytton,  as  a  note  from  him  indicates,  an  introduc- 
tion to  Lord  Yerulam.  As  the  bearer  of  that  title 
was  then  not  a  Bacon  but  a  Grimston,  there 
would  seem  to  have  been  little  help  from  him  to 
be  hoped  for.  Carlyle's  friendly  mindfulness  of 
her  and  his  keen  apprehension  of  the  methods  by 
which  she  was  evolving  and  maintaining  her  hy- 
pothesis appear  from  a  letter  of  his  to  Emerson, 
April  8,  1854 :  "  Miss  Bacon  has  fled  away  to  St. 
Albans  (the  Great  Bacon's  place)  five  or  six 
months  ago  ;  and  is  there  working  out  her  Shak- 
spere  Problem,  from  the  depths  of  her  own  mind, 
disdainful  apparently,  or  desperate  and  careless, 
of  all  evidence  from  Museums  or  Archives ;  I  have 
not  had  an  answer  from  her  since  before  Christ- 
mas, and  have  now  lost  her  address.  Poor  Lady  ! 
I  sometimes  silently  wish  she  were  safe  home 
again ;  for  truly  there  can  no  madder  enterprise 
than  her  present  one  be  well  figured."  ^ 

This  prolongation  of  her  stay  abroad  was  be- 
yond her  own  original  reckoning,  or  that  of  her 
friends.  At  midsummer  her  generous  patron  put 
at  her  disposal  a  sum  ample  to  pay  what  she  owed 
and  to  bring  her  home.     But  her  work  was  not 

1  Correspondence,  etc.,  vol.  ii.  240,  241. 


68  DELIA   BACON. 

done.  At  the  end  of  September  she  wrote  from 
St.  Albans  to  Emerson  that  her  work  was  prosper- 
ing, and  telling  how  she  managed  to  stay.  "  I  am 
enabled  to  stay  here  so  long,  in  consequence  of 
having  reduced  my  expenses  as  soon  as  I  resolved 
upon  this  course.  The  money  that  I  brought 
with  me,  which  was  supposed  to  be  only  enough 
for  the  first  summer,  was  spun  out  by  this  process 
till  the  close  of  the  second ;  and  now  that  I  have 
begun  to  encroach  upon  the  very  ample  sum  al- 
lotted for  my  return,  I  am  more  prudent  than 
ever.  But  I  do  not  know  that  there  will  be  any 
need  of  it  for  that  purpose,  and  I  am  living  here 
as  economically  as  I  could  in  America ;  and  as  I 
think  only  of  finishing  my  work,  and  have  no 
other  future,  and  this  is  enough  and  more  than 
enough  for  that  purpose,  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  spend  so  large  a  sum  merely  for  the  sake 
of  being;  in  America.  Not  that  it  is  not  the  best 
country  in  the  world,  —  but  '  there  's  livers  out  of 
it,'  and  I  don't  forget  that  I  heard  Margaret  Ful- 
ler's friends  conclude  among  themselves  that  the 
storm  which  dashed  her  on  its  rocks,  and  pre- 
vented the  chance  of  her  landing  among  them, 
was  a  merciful  dispensation  of  Providence.  I 
have  some  beloved  friends  there,  but  my  life  was 
finished  some  time  ago  in  every  other  respect  but 
this,  and  as  this  is  the  world's  work  and  not  mine 
that  I  am  doing,  I  suppose  the  expense  of  it  will 
have  to  be  paid  in  some  way. 


DELIA   BACON.  69 

"  So  I  do  not  trouble  myself  about  it,  and  am  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and  only  wish  I  lived  in 
Herschel  or  Jupiter  or  some  of  those  larger  worlds, 
where  it  would  not  be  time  to  go  to  bed  just  as 
one  gets  fairly  awake,  and  begins  to  be  in  earnest 
a  little.  I  have  lived  here  nearly  a  year,  and 
have  not  spoken  to  one  of  the  natives  yet,  except 
by  accident,  but  I  have  not  felt  my  solitude.  It 
has  been  a  year  of  sunshine  with  me ;  the  harvest 
of  many  years  of  toil  and  weeping.  I  cannot  tell 
you  what  pleasures  I  have  had  here.  This  poor 
perturbed  spirit,  that  had  left  its  work  undone, 
and  would  not  leave  me  alone  till  it  had  brought 
me  here,  seems  satisfied  at  last.  My  work  has 
ceased  to  be  burdensome  to  me ;  I  find  in  it  a  rest 
such  as  no  one  else  can  ever  know,  I  think,  except 
in  heaven.  But  that  is  not  saying  that  the  world 
will  be  pleased  with  it.  I  hope  it  will  not  disap- 
point the  expectation  of  those  who  have  made 
themselves  responsible  for  it,  in  any  manner ;  and, 
above  all,  I  hope  that  you  will  like  it,  and  will 
have  no  occasion  to  regret  the  noble  concern  you 
have  taken  in  it. 

"  It  has  been  a  great  and  constant  help  to  me 
to  have  two  such  friends  as  yourself  and  Carlyle 
interested  in  it.  Carlyle  is  as  good  and  kind  as 
he  can  be.  He  is  very  much  troubled  about  my 
being  here  so  long  alone." 

At  the  time  this  was  written  she  was  aarain, 
after  an  interval,  putting  herself  in  communica- 


70  DELIA   BACON. 

tion   with   the   Carlyles,  as   the   following  letter 
shows. 

Chelsea,  4  October,  1854. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  We  are  very  glad  to  hear 
of  you  again,  and  that  you  are  doing  well,  and 
getting  that  wild  jungle  of  sticks  victoriously  tied 
into  fagots.  That  is  a  right  success,  due  to  all 
faithful  workers,  and  which  nobody  can  deprive 
one  of. 

My  wife  cannot  by  any  means  recollect  the 
least  particular  of  Mrs.  Spring's  address  at  Hamp- 
stead,  though  she  was  once  there,  and  saw  the 
place  with  her  eyes.  However,  she  assures  me  it 
would  have  done  nothing  for  your  present  enter- 
prise ;  it  was  a  place  let  (i<?ifurnished  with  servants) 
as  a  whole  house ;  was  very  dear,  and  also  (as  is 
thought)  very  dirty,  —  not  at  all  like  what  you 
require.  Other  lodgings,  no  doubt,  are  abundant 
in  Hampstead,  especially  at  this  season  of  the 
year;  but  neither  of  us  here  knows  specially  of 
any,  nor  can  Jane  bethink  her  just  at  once  of  any 
person  whom  she  could  confidently  consult  on  the 
matter.  —  I  myself  do,  at  this  moment,  call  to  mind 
a  certain  Mrs.  Dr.  Wilkinson,  an  accomplished 
American  lady  withal,  and  wife  of  an  accom- 
plished and  truly  superior  man,  who  lives  in  that 
neighborhood,  not  quite  in  Hampstead,  but  on  this 
side  of  it,  —  to  whom  I  would  offer  you  an  intro- 
duction if  you  went  towards  that  region.  Hamp- 
stead is  very  airy,  and  has  still  a  set  of  silent 


DELIA   BACON.  71 

country  walks,  though  the  Bricklayer  is  fearfully 
busy  there  too  in  these  last  years ;  you  could  have 
no  real  difficulty  in  getting  a  cleanly,  honest,  and 
tolerable  lodging  there ;  the  worst  fault  I  know  is 
that  of  the  water ;  very  hard,  all  of  it,  from  the 
chalk ;  which  fault,  however,  applies  only  to  the 
Hill,  or  Old  Village,  as  I  suppose  ?  Nay,  indeed 
there  is  no  pure  water  to  be  had  in  this  big  Baby- 
lon itself,  for  all  its  wealth  and  faculty  ;  the  Queen 
herself  has  to  drink  dirty  water  (as  I  often  think) 
when  she  favors  us  with  her  company,  —  so  ex- 
tremely wise  a  set  of  "  successful  men  "  are  we 

hitherto   in  these  parts. Of   lodgings   about 

Chelsea,  or  indeed,  in  all  quarters  urban  and  sub- 
urban, Jane  thinks  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  ample 
choice  on  every  hand  ;  and  she  will  very  gladly 
give  help  whenever  you  embark  on  such  a  search. 
Her  notion,  in  which  I  entirely  agree,  is  at  pres- 
ent. That  whenever  you  decide  on  a  removal  you 
are  simply  to  leave  your  things  all  packed  at  St. 
Albans,  and  come  off  at  once  to  the  vacant  room  I 
told  you  of  as  waiting  to  welcome  you  here,  — 
therefrom  to  institute  whatever  search  your  fancy 
and  judgment  point  to,  under  the  favourablest 
auspices.  This  really  is  the  wisest,  and  also  the 
easiest;  confess  that  it  is,  0  you  of  little  faith, 
and  do  it. 1  was  just  going  out  (by  appoint- 
ment) yesterday  when  your  letter  came  ;  could 
not  write  till  now. 

Yours  very  truly,  dear  Miss  B., 

T.  Carlyle. 


72  DELIA   BACON. 

The  letter  without  date  which  follows  seems  to 
have  been  written  at  the  holiday  season  of  1854-5. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  would  go,  with  all  the 
pleasure  in  life,  to  answer  your  letter  in  person, 
but  the  news  that  you  are  laid  up  ^^ finds  me  in  the 
same  "  (as  the  maidservants  write).  I  have  been 
having  a  bad  cold,  off  and  on,  for  the  last  two 
months ;  and  gone  on  trying  to  put  it  down  par 
vive  force  till  finally  it  put  down  me.  These  last 
two  weeks  I  have  been  confined  to  my  room,  and 

sometimes  to  bed. 1  am  getting  better  now 

however,  and  hope  to  be  what  is  called  "  about " 
again  next  week. 

We  have  not  been  out  of  town  this  season.  Mr. 
C.  is  dreadfully  busy  with  his  "  Frederick,"  who  I 

beg  into  wish  had  never  been  born. He,  Mr. 

C,  is  never  out  but  for  a  hurried  walk  after  dark  ; 
he  declined  the  usual  Christmas  visit  to  the  Ash- 
burtons.  I  was  to  have  gone,  however,  this  very 
day  —  to  the  Grange  —  on  my  own  basis  for  a 
month  —  but  the  meeting  of  Parliament  has  been 
the  means  under  Providence  of  putting  off  the 
party  till  the  19th  of  this  month  —  otherwise  I 
must  have  given  it  up  altogether.  We  shall  see 
how  the  world  looks  by  the  19th  —  but  in  any 
case  I  hope  to  see  you  here  or  there  before  then. 
Yours  truly, 

Saturday.  JaNE  CaRLYLE. 

5  Cheyne  Row. 


DELIA   BACON.  73 

These  were  busy  days  with  her.  If  nothing 
else  showed  it,  the  paucity  of  her  letters  during 
these  many  months  would.  Until  late  in  the  fol- 
lowing March,  this  next  is  the  only  one  which 
appears,  either  to  her  or  from  her. 

Concord,  Mass.,  November  20,  1854. 

My  deak  Miss  Bacoj^,  —  I  am  heartily  grieved 
—  but  it  is  past  help  —  at  my  silence  and  delays. 
There  can  be  no  forgiveness  for  it.  I  have  had 
both  your  letters,  and  made  ineffectual  attempts 
to  answer  both.  I  was  very  happy  to  read  the 
good  news,  which  both  contained,  of  your  studies 
and  enjoyments.  And  I  heard  collaterally  from 
Carlyle,  of  his  goodwill  and  respect.  The  state- 
ments in  your  last  letter  especially  engage  my 
interest,  and  it  seems  most  honorable  and  most 
useful,  —  that  which  you  say,  that  you  can  live 
and  study  in  England  for  no  more  than  it  would 
cost  in  America,  and  that  the  supplies  for  one 
summer  can  be  spun  out  to  serve  for  two.  I  can 
hardly  refrain  from  publishing  the  fact  in  the 
newspapers,  for  the  benefit  of  all  scholars.  That 
your  readings  prosper,  and  that  you  confirm  your- 
self in  your  conviction,  is  also  good  news ;  for, 
though  I  think  your  hypothesis  more  incredible 
than  the  improbable  traditions  (and  unexplained) 
it  would  supplant,  yet  you  cannot  maintain  any 
side  without  shedding  light  on  the  first  of  all 
literary    problems.     Carlyle,    too,    I   found,    with 


74  DELIA   BACON. 

decided  interest  and  respect,  had  no  faith  in  the 
paradox.  I  went  to  Phillips  &  Sampson  the  last 
time  I  was  in  town  to  engage  their  interest  in  the 
book.  They  considered  it  a  promising  enterprise, 
but  could  not  think  of  it  for  themselves,  and  the 
better  the  book  should  be  they  said  the  worse  for 
them.  For  they  have  several  "  firstrate  "  books, 
as  they  call  them,  now  in  press,  or  just  out  of 
press,  and  are  afraid  of  a  good  book  as  likely  to 
damage  these !  do  not  wish  to  stand  in  their  own 
light,  or  overlay  their  own  children.  I  went  to 
Ticknor  &  Fields,  but  with  no  better  success. 
They  are  afraid,  if  I  understand  it,  of  a  literary 
book,  and  answer  steadily,  "anytime  hut  now,^' 
as  if  now  nothing  but  Russia,  Australia,  and 
Romance  would  have  any  attraction.  These  two 
are  the  best  here,  and  1  hesitate  a  little  about  the 
next  step;  yet  shall  take  another.  If  you  are 
sure  of  the  book,  you  may  easily  be  sure  of  a  pub- 
lisher. I  beg  you  will  write  me  once  more  (not- 
withstanding my  ill  deserts)  that  it  is  ready,  or 
that  it  will  soon  be,  and  when  and  how  large  it  will 
be.  I  think  of  applying  to  Mr.  J.  C.  Derby,  of 
New  York,  of  whom  I  hear  much  good.  I  meant 
to  print  my  own  tardy  MSS.  speculations  on  Eng- 
land in  this  month,  but  I  doubt  and  delay.  I  am 
however  extremely  busy.  With  all  congratula- 
tion and  good  hope, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 


DELIA   BACON,  75 

For  eleven  months,  until  the  begmning  of  No- 
vember, 1854,  she  remained  at  St.  Albans,  pursu- 
ing her  work  with  exhausting  eagerness.  For 
the  next  month  she  was  at  Hatfield,  redolent  of 
Elizabethan  memories,  ten  miles  beyond  St.  Al- 
bans ;  and  thence,  at  the  beginning  of  December, 
she  returned  to  London,  "driven  here,"  as  she 
wrote  to  her  sister,  "  by  the  terrible  discomforts  of 
those  wretched  country  houses  in  winter."  At 
Hatfield,  she  says  (writing  January  12,  1855),  "  I 
found  it  was  uniformly  colder  in  my  room  than  it 
was  out  of  doors  in  the  daytime.  The  thermom- 
eter could  not  have  been  at  all  above  50.  My 
hands  and  feet  were  aching  and  stiff  with  the 
cold,  but  since  I  have  been  here  I  have  hardly 
known  what  the  sensation  was." 

"  Carlyle  has  been  here  to  see  me,  though  I  am 
miles  from  him,  to  invite  me  to  his  house.  I  was 
out  when  he  came,  but  he  left  word  with  the  ser- 
vant, and  there  was  no  alternative  but  for  me  to 
go,  and  it  was  very  very  pleasant  I  went  at  five 
o'clock  and  stayed  to  dinner  and  tea,  till  eleven, 
and  Carlyle  spent  all  the  time  with  us,  though  he 
is  extremely  busy  now,  finishing  his  '  Life  of  Fred- 
eric '  the  Second,  and  refuses  all  invitations.  I 
have  real  cosy  pleasant  times  when  I  go  there,  but 
I  am  most  heartily  glad  I  have  no  other  acquaint- 
ances here ;  they  would  torment  me  to  death." 

Then,  after  some  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  been  working,  she  proceeds :     "  If 


76  DELIA   BACON. 

I  had  known,  perhaps,  when  I  was  in  America, 
how  it  would  be  exactly,  and  that  I  should  have 
this  book  to  write  first  of  all,  I  might  have  felt 
tempted  to  stay  with  you  and  try  to  do  it.  But  I 
don't  think  I  could  ever  have  written  it  there.  I 
think  the  mere  fact  of  my  being  here  has  had  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  my  success.  I  have  done 
what  it  seemed  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  do  at 
home,  —  what  I  tried  in  vain  to  do  there.  My 
summer  at  Cambridge  was  wasted  in  vain  efforts. 
I  knew  not  how  to  relieve  myself  of  this  great 
responsibility.  Think,  if  you  can,  what  it  is  to  feel 
that  I  am  delivering  myself  from  it  at  last,  that 
here  in  this  land  of  my  fathers  God  has  at  last 
given  me  the  utterance  that  I  have  all  my  life 
lacked,  and  that  this  great  secret,  in  which  the 
welfare  of  mankind  is  concerned,  will  not  perish 
with  me  for  want  of  the  means  of  telling  it.  To 
go  on  with  it,  calmly  and  patiently,  to  work  away 
at  it,  day  after  day,  and  year  after  year,  as  if  it  were 
the  merest  piece  of  ordinary  drudgery,  and  without 
sympathy  or  counsel,  that  is  what  I  have  had  to 
do,  and  what  I  thought  I  never  could  do  at  first. 
I  would  have  given  anything  to  have  had  you 
with  me  at  times ;  indeed,  there  have  been  mo- 
ments when  I  have  felt  that  I  could  not  endure  it 
to  the  end.  For  you  know  what  kind  of  health  I 
had  to  undertake  it  with." 

"  On  the  16th  of  this  month  I  shall  begin  on  my 
last  hundred   dollars,    not  without   some  misgiv- 


DELIA    BACON.  77 

ings  ;  and  if  I  were  sure  of  being  able  to  get  into 
any  spot  where  I  should  not  lose  in  thne  more  than 
I  should  gain  in  the  difference  of  price  I  would  go 
at  once  to  cheaper  lodgings.  But  every  change 
costs  me  so  much  time  I  am  afraid  to  stir." 

The  letter  which  follows  is  to  Emerson;  and, 
like  the  one  from  which  these  last  quotations  are 
made,  is  dated  at  "  12  Spring  St.,  Sussex  Gardens, 
Hyde  Park,  London,  March"  [24,  1855].  It 
covers  eight  pages  in  her  fine,  compact,  yet  very 
legible  handwriting,  and  gives  a  full  account  of 
what  she  has  been  doing  and  what  she  hopes  to  do. 
"  The  volume,"  she  says,  "  which  was  to  have  been 
finished  in  December,  was  merely  a  history  of  the 
great  work  I  have  undertaken  to  interpret.  But 
it  was  a  history  which  contained  the  key  of  that 
interpretation.  The  particular  application  of  it, 
in  the  exposition  of  the  plays,  was  reserved  for  a 
future  volume.  I  intended  to  have  the  history  in 
one  book,  and  the  criticism  in  another."  She  pro- 
ceeds to  tell  how  "  criticism  "  had  grown  and  over- 
mastered her  ;  how  especially  "  Coriolanus  "  had 
thrust  himself  into  her  work  in  spite  of  her;  but 
also  how,  although  her  historical  work  was  thus 
diminished  in  proportion,  the  criticisms  "  serve  to 
put  the  discovery  on  the  most  solid  ground,  and 
leave  no  room  for  any  doubt  in  any  mind.  They 
put  it  where  it  is  henceforth  independent  of  further 
historical  corroboration." 

Then,  having  thus  justified  to  Emerson  what 


78  DELIA   BACON'. 

Carlyle  had  already  written  to  him  of  her  seem- 
ing disdain  "  of  all  evidence  from  Museums  or 
Archives,"  she  proceeds  to  discuss  arrangements 
with  publishers  in  the  two  countries.  As  for 
America,  Emerson  had  undertaken  the  burden  of 
managing  for  her,  so  that  the  discussion  was  prop- 
erly full  and  detailed.  "  I  cannot  satisfy  myself," 
she  says,  "  as  to  the  title.  I  wish  you  would  help 
me  a  little.  I  send  you  my  last  attempt."  [It  is 
on  a  separate  leaf : 

(Age.) 
"  Francis  Bacon  and  his  (Stage.) 
or. 
The   New  Philosophy. 
Including  also  the   History  of    Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh and  his  connection  with  '  the  Globe  '  The- 
atre, together  with  a  brief  account  of  Shakspere 
the  Player. 

"  All  the  world's  a  stage."] 

"If  I  should  call  it  ^  The  New  Magic'  as  I 
should  like  to,  the  work  would  sustain  the  title,  but 
it  might  seem  fanciful  to  one  who  has  not  read  it, 
or  read  the  '  Advancement  of  Learning,'  and  I  wish 
to  avoid  any  appearance  of  that  kind." 

It  was  upon  reading  this  letter  that  Emerson,  on 
the  17th  of  April,  1855,  wrote  thus  to  Carljde :  ^ 
"  Miss  Bacon  sends  me  word,  again  and  again,  of 
your  goodness.  Against  hope  and  sight  she  must 
be  making  a  remarkable  book.     I  have  a  letter 

^  Correspondence,  vol.  ii.  244. 


DELIA   BACON.  79 

from  her,  a  few  days  ago,  written  in  perfect  assur- 
ance of  success!  " 

Nor  does  any  other  letter  appear  before  this 
next  one  from  Carlyle  with  its  enclosure. 

Chelsea,  7  June,  1855. 

Deak  Miss  Bacox,  —  I  am  very  glad  you  have 
got  done  with  your  Book,  and  are  secure  of  an 
American  Publisher  on  reasonable  terms.  These 
are  two  great  points ;  and  we  ought  to  be  very 
thankful  for  these. 

As  to  an  English  Publisher,  in  the  present  pos- 
ture of  affairs,  —  at  least  as  to  getting  any  pecuni- 
ary profit  out  of  an  English  Publisher,  —  I  confess 
I  foresee  difficulty,  and  (in  my  bilious  mood)  am 
not  without  misgivings.  This  too,  however,  is 
part  of  the  problem  ;  this  too  you  must  resolutely 
attempt,  and  solve  to  the  extent  possible. 

Of  our  Publishers  here  Longman  &  Co.  (Pater- 
noster Row)  are  probably  the  richest;  perfectly 
respectable  men,  who  publish  a  great  many  Books, 
but  have  not  to  my  knowledge  excelled  their  con- 
temporaries in  detecting  genius  in  MSS.  Murray 
(Albemarle  Street)  is  also  a  great  Publisher,  son 
of  the  Murray  you  used  to  hear  of  ;  I  find  him 
often  connected  with  scientific,  didactic  "  Serials," 
as  they  are  called ;  Travellers'  Handbooks,  rail- 
way reading,  and  the  like.  Chapman  (Chapman  & 
Hall,  193  Piccadilly),  he  and  Parker  are  the  only 
two  Publishers  I  have  even  a  slight  acquaintance 


80  DELIA   BACON. 

with,  who  seem  likely  for  you.  —  On  the  whole, 
all,  or  very  nearly  all,  our  English  Publishers  will, 
if  they  undertake,  behave  with  perfect  (shop- 
keeper) accuracy  to  you  in  fulfilment  of  their  bar- 
gain ;  but  beyond  the  high  shopkeeper  spirit  I  do 
not  know  any  of  them  that  rises  very  decisively. 
I  have,  in  late  years,  had  less  and  less  to  do  with 
any  and  all  of  them  ;  they  will  believe  that  Paper 
that  I  have  written  by  way  of  testimony  —  or  at 
least  believe  it  better  than  they  would  most  men's 
writing  (knowing  the  nature  of  the  beast,  that  he 
does  not  lie  if  he  can  help  it) ;  but  that  is  really 
pretty  much  all  I  can  do  ;  that  and  Emerson's 
letter  (with  some /ormaZ  Note  of  Introduction  by 
anybody  acquainted  with  a  Publisher)  will  pretty 
much  put  the  man  in  possession  of  the  case,  and 
enable  him  to  decide  with  his  eyes  open  ;  which  is 
all  we  can  reasonably  want  of  the  poor  man.  As 
to  the  formal  "Notes  of  Introduction,"  except  in 
the  cases  of  Parker  and  Chapman,  it  seems  to  be 
probable  you  are  acquainted  with  persons  who  can 
do  that  more  appropriately  than  I,  —  though  cer- 
tainly I  too  can  do  it,  after  a  sort,  and  will  cheer- 
fully if  you  find  it  needful. 

In  conclusion,  I  will  wish  you  well  through  this 
final  unpleasant  part  of  the  business ;  and  shall  be 
very  anxious  to  hear  how  you  get  along  in  it. 

1  have  been  sunk  in  bottomless  "  vortexes  of  Prus- 
sian dust "  these  many  months,  my  very  senses  al- 
most choked  out  of  me  with  that  and  other  mani- 


DELIA   BACON.  81 

fold  confusions,  —  bodily  health  too  in  general  by 
no  means  above  par.  Hardly  once  have  I  been  in 
any  direction  as  far  as  your  street,  —  and  never 
once  there  (as  is  too  plain  ! )  though  my  wife  has 
been  often  urging.  She  is  in  distress  about  an 
umbrella  of  yours  which  was  left  here ;  I  could 
hnYefoimd  your  street  and  house  with  the  eye,  but 
the  name  of  it  I  could  not  communicate  to  the  most 
urgent  Helpmate,  having  forgotten  the  name  ! 

The  sooner  you  come  down,  through  the  fine 
Summer  weather,  and  see  my  wife  and  self  again, 
it  will  be  the  better,  on  several  accounts.  Except 
Sunday  she  is  not  certain  to  be  at  home  after  1 
p.  M. ;  but  in  the  evening  almost  always,  or  before 
that  time  in  the  early  day.  —  Believe  me  always, 
Dear  Miss  Bacon,  Yours  sincerely, 

T.  Caelyle. 

[^Enclostire.2 

Miss  Delia  Bacon,  an  American  lady,  of  much 
worth  and  earnestness  of  mind,  has  devoted  a  great 
deal  of  serious  study  to  Shakspere ;  and  believes 
herself  to  have  made  a  singular  and  important  dis- 
covery in  regard  to  the  history  or  origin  of  his 
works.  To  perfect  this  discovery,  she  came  over 
to  England  about  two  years  ago,  introduced  and 
recommended  by  some  of  the  best  people  in  Amer- 
ica; and  here  she  has  been  ever  since,  working 
in  the  most  earnest  unwearied  manner  to  demon- 
strate her  idea  as  to  Shakspere's  works ;  and  has 
now  completed,  after  much  care  and  labour,  what 
she  had  to  say  on  that  subject. 


82  DELIA   BACON. 

An  American  Publisher  has  engaged  the  volume 
for  America ;  and  Miss  B.,  whose  residence  gives 
her  copyright  here,  wishes  to  find  a  Publisher  for 
England. 

I  have  not  myself  examined  or  seen  Miss  B.'s 
present  MS. ;  but  I  can  freely  bear  witness  in  gen- 
eral that  she  writes  in  a  clear,  elegant,  ingenious 
and  highly  readable  manner ;  that  she  is  a  per- 
son of  definite  ideas,  of  conscientious  veracity  in 
thought  as  well  as  word,  and  that  probably  no 
Book  written  among  us  during  these  two  years 
has  been  more  seriously  elaborated,  and  in  all  ways 
made  the  best  of,  than  this  of  hers. 

T.  Carltle. 

5  Gt.  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  7  June,  1855. 

Soon  after  this  there  begin  to  come  in  the  re- 
turns from  the  attempts  now  made  to  find  a  pub- 
lisher. In  June,  a  note  from  John  Murray  ;  in 
July,  one  from  J.  W.  Parker  ;  in  August,  from  G. 
P.  Putnam  of  New  York,  and  from  Phillips  & 
Sampson  of  Boston.  These  last  make  definite  pro- 
posals to  publish ;  but  all  the  rest,  with  courteous 
but  sufficient  excuses,  decline.  The  two  from  the 
American  publishers  were  forwarded  by  Emerson 
with  his  letter  which  follows : 

Concord,  August  5,  1855. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  give  you  joy  on  the 
good  news  you  send  me  of  the  ending  of  your 


DELIA   BACON.  83 

work.  "What  if  it  is  only  the  beginning  of  another, 
it  is  also  the  pledge  of  power  to  do  it.  I  hope  and 
trust  it  is  good  news  for  us  and  all  people  also. 
And  to  this  end  I  sent  your  two  letters  at  once  to 
both  the  Publishers,  and  enclose  to  you  Mr,  Put- 
nam's reply,  which,  indeed,  I  anticipated,  as  know- 
ing he  had  been  long  embarrassed  in  his  trade, 
though  retaining,  I  am  told,  the  respect  of  his 
community. 

In  the  shortness  of  the  time  we  have  to  act  in, 
I  think  it  best  also  to  send  you  Phillips  &  Samp- 
son's letter ;  of  which,  otherwise,  I  should  only 
send  you  a  summary.  I  failed  to  see  them,  though 
I  went  to  their  compting-room.  If  you  go  on 
with  them,  you  had  better  preserve  their  letter. 
They  may  seem  to  you  timid,  but  they  are  as 
brave  as  their  experience  will  allow  them  to  be. 
Such  is  the  advertising  system  under  which  they 
live,  and  the  giving  away  of  copies  to  every  news- 
paper, that  it  costs  them  $150,  I  think  they 
showed  me,  —  before  a  single  copy  is  sold,  —  for 
that  expense  alone.  And  they  have  been  losers 
by  many  books. 

You  will  see  that  P.  &  S.  object  to  the  title.  I 
do  not  know  but  I  put  it  in  their  heads.  I  think 
you  can  easily  give  the  book  a  simpler  name, 
simply  descriptive,  the  plainer  the  better,  with  or 
without  a  motto,  and  let  that  not  be  italicized,  as, 
the  "Authorship  of  the  Shakspere  Plays,"  or  the 
like.  I  who  do  not  know  the  book  cannot  tell  the 
title,  —  but  wish  it  to  be  of  stone. 


84  DELIA  BACON. 

I  am  just  running  up  to  a  country  college  to 
read  a  discourse  to  the  Alumni,  and  therefore 
hasten  to  put  these  two  notes  together,  lest  they 
lose  a  steamer,  and  so  cut  short  my  billet.  The 
best  hap  which  ever  awaits  truth  await  you  !  And 
let  me  hear  and  convey  your  decisions  to  these 
men.     Yours  faithfully, 

K.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  D.  S.  Bacon. 

It  is  of  little  importance  that  among  the  men 
of  letters  with  whom  she  entered  into  communica- 
tion was  George  Grote,  the  historian  of  Greece. 
Why  it  should  have  been  thought  that  his  studies 
or  fancies  would  incline  him  to  consider  her  specu- 
lations cannot  now  be  known ;  it  is  only  certain 
that  this  letter  from  his  wife  is  all  that  came  of 
the  communication.  But  it  would  hardly  be  right 
to  withhold  so  stately  and  sonorous  a  piece  of 
rhetoric  as  the  answer  of  Mrs.  Grote.  One  is  not 
a  little  puzzled  to  understand  that  a  lady  who  thus 
uttered  the  simplest  facts  in  the  most  solemn  way 
should  have  been  an  intimate  friend  and  corre- 
spondent of  Sydney  Smith ;  who  nevertheless  is 
said  to  have  permitted  himself  the  freedom  to 
remark,  as  he  first  saw  her  entering  a  drawing- 
room  crowned  with  a  startling  scarlet  turban,  that 
he  now  received  a  new  impression  of  the  meaning 
of  the  word  Grotesque.  The  handwriting  of  the 
letter  is  as  masculine  as  its  style. 


DELIA   BACON.  85 

London,  5  August,  1855. 

Madam,  —  On  reaching  London  late  yesterday 
evening  from  Lincolnshire  (where  Mr.  Grote  and 
I  have  been  all  the  week  on  business),  I  found 
your  letter  and  enclosures,  which  I  make  it  a  duty 
to  acknowledge  without  delay. 

I  gather  from  the  contents  of  the  letters  that 
you  desire  some  counsel  and  assistance  in  regard 
to  securing  a  reputable  Publisher  for  the  work 
which  has  so  long  engaged  your  time  and  talents 
—  and  in  this  view  I  should  be  happy  to  concur, 
with  Mr.  Grote,  in  rendering  such  aid  as  we  could 
furnish  towards  that  desirable  object.  My  own 
personal  arrangements  are,  however,  for  this  week 
incompatible  with  any  London  business.  Intend- 
ing to  stop  one  or  two  nights  only  in  town  on 
passing  through  to  my  country  residence  (about  24 
miles  distant  in  the  County  of  Buckinghamshire), 

1  have  made  engagements  to  receive  friends  at 
the  latter  place  for  a  few  days.  So  that,  for  the 
next  10  days  it  will  be  out  of  my  power  to  invite 
you  to  meet  me  at  our  town  residence.  But 
should  your  affair  require  speedy  agency,  Mr. 
Grote  will  have  much  pleasure  in  seeing  you  on 
any  forenoon  between  now  and  Friday  next,  before 

2  o'clock,  and  will  endeavor  to  assist  you  with 
his  experience  and  discernment  towards  obtaining 
the  purpose  in  view. 

My  presence  in  town  will  be  needed  for  a  day 
or  two,  about   the   20th  August,  to  arrange  for 


86  DELIA   BACON. 

workmen  coming  in  on  the  25th  to  paint  the  in- 
terior apartments,  and  if  you  could  do  me  the 
honor  to  propose  a  day  about  that  period,  it  will 
be  my  study  to  meet  it,  with  every  inclination  to 
serve  a  lady  whose  talents  and  personal  merit 
entitle  her  to  the  good  offices  of  such  of  her  own 
sex,  as  well  as  of  the  other,  who  value  literary 
tastes  and  instructed  industry  in  woman.  I  have 
the  honor  to  be,  Madam, 

Your  obedient  humble  servant, 

H.  Grote. 

In  September  comes  another  declination,  this 
time  from  Chapman  &  Hall,  and  without  the  cour- 
teous expressions  of  sympathy  with  which  every 
other  publisher  was  kind  enough  to  soften  the 
pain  of  rejection.  These  gentlemen  alone  put 
themselves  on  high  moral  ground.  "As  they  can- 
not confess  themselves  converts  to  her  views,  they 
feel  that  it  would  not  become  them  to  be  the  in- 
struments for  opening  an  attack  upon  one  of  the 
most  sacred  beliefs  of  the  nation  and  indeed  of  all 
nations."  They  would,  however,  "  be  much  pleased 
if  they  could  wish  her  success  in  her  bold  and  novel 
undertaking"." 

All  this  delay  and  disappointment  meant  far 
more  to  her  than  pride  abased  or  ambition  dis- 
couraged ;  more  even  than  sorrow  that  a  great 
discovery  was  thus  withheld  from  a  waiting  world. 
Trusting  to  the  returns  which  her  work,  into  which 


DELIA   BACON.  87 

her  soul  and  life  had  been  thrown,  was  to  bring 
her,  she  had  gone  on  consuming,  though  with  hard 
self-denying  frugality,  the  little  fund  given  to  bring 
her  home,  and  she  was  now  at  an  end  of  that. 
Late  in  October  she  wrote,  from  the  same  lodgings 
in  Spring  Street,  a  very  long  letter  to  Emerson, 
which  was  not  completed  until  the  first  of  Novem- 
ber. On  that  day  she  wrote  also  a  short  one  to 
her  brother  in  New  Haven.  In  the  two  years  and 
a  half  of  her  absence  she  seems,  in  her  strong  sense 
of  the  wrong  his  want  of  sympathy  with  her  great 
discovery  had  done  her,  to  have  seldom  commu- 
nicated with  him.  Even  now,  while  the  letter 
showed  that  she  retained  the  absolute  confidence 
in  him  which  was  one  of  the  earliest  sentiments  of 
her  Kfe,  and  even  had  not  lost  the  affection  of  a 
sister,  her  pride  restrained  the  faintest  intimation 
of  the  nature  of  her  work,  which  was  nevertheless 
so  well  known  to  him  that  his  disapproval  of  it  had 
deeply  estranged  her  from  him.  With  it  she  sent 
him,  under  seal,  the  letter  to  Emerson  and  a  packet 
of  manuscript  beside.  "  You  must  excuse,"  she 
says,  "  the  liberty  I  take  in  sending  this  packet  to 
your  care.  My  living  depends  on  my  getting  an 
early  answer  to  it,  and  I  should  have  to  delay  it 
unless  I  took  just  this  course."  She  speaks  of  the 
finished  manuscript  in  her  hands  "  on  a  subject 
calculated  to  interest  the  American  public  very 
deeply,"  and  of  the  hopes  she  had  had  of  receiving 
something  for  its  publication  either  in  a  magazine 


88  DELIA   BACON. 

or  as  a  book.  "  The  first  thing  now  is  to  provide 
for  my  immediate  living,  for  the  delay  here  has 
been  disastrous  to  me  in  that  respect.  My  posi- 
tion is  better  now  than  it  ever  has  been  before, 
because  my  work  is  now  done  instead  of  being  to 
do.  I  have  found  the  leisure  which  I  never  could 
find  before  for  it,  and  I  am  glad  I  have  used  it  as 
I  have,  let  the  consequences  to  me  personally  be 
what  they  may.  And  serious  enough  they  are, 
for  I  do  not  now  know  how  I  am  possibly  to  live, 
until  I  can  get  an  answer  to  this.  Unless  the  let- 
ter I  have  been  depending  on  "  [from  Putnam  the 
publisher,  who  she  hoped  would  print  one  maga- 
zine article]  "  should  arrive  very  soon,  I  shall  be 
entirely  at  the  end  of  my  credit,  as  well  as  means." 
"  I  have  sealed  the  pacquet,  because  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  have  any  responsibility  for  the  work  —  for 
reasons  which  you  will  understand  by  and  by  ;  — 
it  is  better  that  you  should  not  see  a  word  of  it  in 
MS."  —  "I  am  sending  my  work  in  parcels  as  fast 
as  I  can  copy  it.  But  there  is  enough  here  to 
decide  the  question  of  its  acceptance  with  Putnam, 
and  if  I  can  live  to  get  a  return  from  this  the 
trouble  will  be  over." 

To  Emerson,  however,  she  recounts  the  alarm 
which  fluttered  the  English  publishers  upon  the 
mere  suggestion  to  them  of  her  subject,  and  pro- 
ceeds :  "  Perhaps  the  American  publishers  may 
be  frightened  too,  and  follow  suit,  and  I  may  have 
to  bury  my  work,  and  bide  my  time,  as  my  betters 
have  done. 


DELIA   BACON.  89 

"  These  articles  I  enclose  with  this  are  properly 
the  first  three  chapters  of  my  work,  or  the  first 
four  rather,  including  the  one  I  have  already  sent ; 
but  on  account  of  their  length  I  have  concluded  to 
subdivide  them.  I  propose  now  to  send  it  in  par- 
cels, as  fast  as  I  can  copy  it,  till  I  get  it  all  over. 
But  if  you  read  it,  there  is  one  point  to  which  I 
beg  leave  to  direct  your  attention  beforehand. 
When  I  began  to  write  it,  I  did  not  expect  to  be 
able  to  prove  the  discovery  with  it.  I  depended 
on  further  evidence  for  that.  But  I  thought  a 
book  might  be  made  of  it  as  it  stood  then  which 
would  command  some  attention,  and  perhaps  give 
me  the  means  which  I  lacked  of  bringing  the 
research  to  its  proper  conclusion ;  and  that  which 
makes  now  the  whole  of  the  first  book  was  writ- 
ten simply  with  that  view  and  intention.  I  illus- 
trated my  assertion  with  quotations  from  the  Plays, 
which  were  freely  interwoven  with  the  story.  But 
in  copying  I  expanded  the  quotations  and  com- 
ments into  regular  criticisms,  and  took  them  out 
of  the  place  to  which  they  belonged,  and  made  a 
separate  book  of  them  ;  and  it  was  when  I  began 
to  do  that,  that  the  confidence  I  have  since  so 
freely  expressed  to  you  took  possession  of  me.  It 
did  not,  and  does  not,  seem  to  me  possible  that  any 
rational  person,  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  look 
at  that  part  of  the  work,  could  differ  from  me  as 
to  the  conclusion.  .  .  .  But  as  for  that  part  of  the 
work  which  I  am  now  sending  you,  I  have  no  such 


90  DELIA  BACON. 

confidence.  My  only  object  there  was  to  get  the 
discovery  fairly  down  on  paper,  to  define  it,  to  say 
what  it  is,  not  to  prove  it ;  and  what  little  demon- 
stration there  was  in  it  has  been  taken  out.  And 
I  ask  your  attention  to  this  point  beforehand, 
because  you  will  be  disappointed  if  you  expect  to 
find  there  that  ground  of  certainty  of  which  I  have 
spoken." 

"  As  to  that  recent  article  in  '  Fraser '  on  the 
Minor  Poems,  I  can  only  regard  it  as  a  case  of  ju- 
dicial blindness  and  hardening  of  the  sensibilities 
on  the  part  of  the  Editor.  If  that  Article  which 
I  sent  to  you  some  three  or  four  weeks  ago  has 
reached  its  destination,  and  is  likely  to  get  pub- 
lished, I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  few  quotations 
from  Mr.  Fraser's  last  inserted  in  it,  and  it  is  per- 
fectly disgraceful  to  me  to  have  omitted  one  point 
which  he  kindly  brings  out  for  me  there,  and  I 
wish  you  would  insert  it  somewhere  if  you  can.  I 
mean  the  consummation  of  that  life  which  the 
author  of  the  article  in  question  claims  as  the  true 
English  type,  frankly  confessing  that  it  is  on  that 
very  account  that  the  English  cling  to  it  so  fondly, 
—  the  fact  that  the  Poet  fell  a  victim  to  this 
national  characteristic  at  last,  for  his  poetry  was 
so  successful,  and  his  good  things  came  in  upon 
him  so  fast,  in  his  retirement  at  Stratford,  and  so 
much  beyond  his  individual  faculty  of  appropriat- 
ing them,  that  he  sank  under  it  and  died  of  over- 
eating ;  actually  perished  by  the  judgment  of  God, 


DELIA    BACON.  91 

in  an  attempt  to  get  the  worth  of  his  poetry,  in 
the  only  shape  in  which  he  could  appreciate  it; 
and  it  is  on  account  of  the  very  quality  which 
finally  assumes  this  consummate  form  in  him,  that 
his  memory  is  embalmed  in  the  grateful  recollec- 
tions of  his  countrymen.  So  this  Fraser  man  says, 
outright.  It  is  not  his  poetry  that  they  admire,  it 
is  his  character.  Anacreon  died  of  a  grape-stone. 
We  have  not  the  particulars  here,  but  I  suppose  it 
was  roast  beef  probably  or  plum  pudding  which 
put  an  end  to  this  god  of  the  English  idolatry  in 
the  midst  of  his  career,  and  prevented  our  having 
any  more  Macbeths  or  Lears  or  Tempests." 

"  I  do  not  know  where  I  shall  be  by  the  time 
your  answer  to  this  arrives,  and  if  the  work  were 
all  in  your  hands,  I  should  not  so  much  care.  I  can 
only  ask  you  to  direct  to  me  here  —  perhaps  you 
have  already  written  in  reply  to  my  last,  —  I  hope 
so  ;  for  a  letter  on  which  I  have  been  very  much 
depending  has  not  come  for  some  reason  or  other, 
and  as  the  month  of  November  is  at  hand,  I  may 
be  in  need  of  all  the  encouragement  which  the 
case  admits  of,  and  the  cheer  which  your  good 
words  have  always  given  me.  It  would  be  very 
foolish  to  expect  to  have  anything  like  this  with- 
out paying  for  it,  and  so  long  as  the  demand  does 
not  involve  impossibilities,  I  hope  to  be  able  to 
meet  it.  There's  something  gained  at  any  rate, 
and  if  that  is  once  secured  it  is  not  possible  for 
one  life  to  pay  too  dearly  for  it." 


92  DELIA  BACON. 

Then  follows  some  discussion  of  other  means 
than  magazines  —  weekly  editions  of  the  New  York 
dailies  —  for  getting  some  of  her  manuscript  be- 
fore the  public,  and  some  compensation  for  it,  — 
"  and  that  would  enable  me  to  retain  my  connec- 
tion with  this  planet,  perhaps,  till  the  work  is  fin- 
ished, —  if  that  should  seem  on  the  whole  desir- 
able. However,  there  is  the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  fall 
back  upon,  in  the  last  resort,^  and  the  Providential 
scheme  is  not  without  its  provisions  for  that  class 
of  persons  that  the  land  refuses  to  tolerate,  —  peo- 
ple who  were  not  expected,  and  for  whom  there  is 
in  two  hemispheres  no  place.  I  have  been  doing 
the  very  best  thing  I  could,  the  most  honorable,  — 
the  only  honorable  thing  I  could.  And  after  a 
deliberate  survey  of  the  ground,  I  have  decided 
to  let  things  take  their  course.  I  am  not  going  to 
abase  myself  because  I  have  done  my  duty.  I  am 
not  afraid  to  die  in  the  w^ay  of  it ;  when  the  road 
comes  fairly  to  an  end,  I  shall  stop.  I  will  make 
no  further  concession  to  the  nonsense  of  this 
world.  It  has  nothing  to  give  me.  Permission  to 
finish  my  work  is  all  I  want  of  it." 

Before  the  answer  to  this  letter  reached  her  she 
must  have  received  news  of  the  relief  which  was 
to  come  from  the  publication  of  the  first  part  of 
her  work.  Joyful  as  the  respite  must  have  been 
to  her,  with  such  joy  as  rewards  the  heroic  endur- 

*  There  seems  to  be  a  reproduction  here  of  her  grim  allusion  to 
Margaret  Fuller  in  an  earlier  letter  (supra,  p.  68). 


DELIA   BACON.  93 

ance  of  a  beleaguered  garrison  in  extremity  when 
the  siege  is  raised,  this  was  nevertheless  the  first 
and  the  last  return,  beyond  the  consciousness  of 
faithful  sacrifice,  from  the  work  to  which  she  gave 
her  life.  The  letter  now  given  must  only  have 
confirmed  to  her  the  news  which  one  from  the 
magazine  publishers  had  already  brought. 

Concord,  3  December,  1855. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon",  —  I  have  only  a  few  minutes, 
and  perhaps  no  intelligence  for  you,  and  yet  can- 
not let  another  steamer  go  in  silence.  I  received 
your  first  chapter  and  read  it,  and  sent  it  immedi- 
ately to  Putnam,  with  all  the  Imprimatur  I  could 
add.  I  did  not  write  you,  for  I  have  been  un- 
comfortably, nay  ridiculously,  busy  with  printing, 
writing,  and  a  correspondence  of  absurd  extent, 
which  my  practice  of  lecturing  creates.  I  delayed 
your  letter  day  by  day,  until  now  comes  your  sec- 
ond parcel,  and  enclosed  letter,  giving  so  much  to 
think  of  —  really  so  much  to  think  of,  that  I 
heartily  wish  the  right  man  were  here  to  think 
and  counsel.  Immediately  on  its  arrival,  comes  at 
last  a  letter  from  Putnam's  editor,  signing  himself 
Dix  Edwards,^  saying,  that  he  did  duly  receive  the 
First  Chapter,  will  print  it  at  last  as  leading  article 
on  1  January,  and  wishes  Miss  Bacon  will  follow  it 
up,  in  their  Monthly,  as  fast  as  she  can.     Mean- 

^  Messrs.  Dix  &  Edwards  were  publishers  (not  editors)  of  the 
magazine. 


94  DELIA   BACON. 

time,  I  hoped  that  you  would  yet  decide  to  print 
by  Phillips  &  Sampson,  and  make  the  book  at 
once.  I  ought  to  have  explained  to  you,  whilst 
their  statement  was  fresh  in  my  mind,  that  you 
are  not  holden  to  them  by  publishing  by  them 
any  longer  than  you  please.  At  the  end  of  the 
first,  or  of  the  second,  or  whatever  edition,  you 
can  take  your  copyright  to  a  new  publisher.  Still, 
there  is  reason  for  holding  on  by  them,  namely, 
that  they  say  they  spend  a  great  deal  of  money 
on  each  of  their  books  before  any  remuneration 
comes.  Also,  they  reply  to  your  feeling  of  the  in- 
justice of  receiving  only  a  tenth  part  of  the  price 
of  the  book  to  yourself,  that  they  receive  still  less, 
unless  and  until  the  book  is  very  successful ;  for  it 
costs  no  more  to  produce  a  book  that  sells  fifty 
thousand  copies  than  the  one  that  sells  one  thou- 
sand. 

Now  you  leave  me,  in  your  last  letter,  quite  too 
much  liberty.  You  have  not  said  what  I  shall  do. 
I  am  going  to  the  Mississippi,  as  soon  as,  or  before, 
my  little  book  is  out ;  and  am  to  read  lectures  in 
that  country  for  six  weeks  perhaps,  —  through  dire 
necessity,  and  not  from  any  desire  to  that  work. 
You  must  choose,  then,  whether  to  print  the  Book 
by  P.  &  S.,  as  the  only  offer  in  that  form  we  have ; 
or,  in  Articles  by  Putnam.  I  much  prefer  the  first 
mode.  If  I  had  my  freedom,  I  should  go  to  Boston 
or  New  York  and  read  your  letters  and  chapters  to 
good  men,  and  found  a  new  Shakespeare  Society 


DELIA    BACON.  95 

to  print  the  Book,  and  install  the  Author.  But 
the  mud  of  the  Mississippi  forbids ;  and  though  you 
suggest  several  good  journals,  &c.,  which  ought  to 
exist  here  for  us,  they  do  not  yet  exist.  The  first 
chapter  was  excellent.  So  is  the  second.  These 
are  all  that  I  have  read.  I  have  the  other  two, 
and,  when  I  leave  home,  shall  leave  my  wife 
charged  to  obey  exactly  the  instructions  you  shall 
send,  in  case  they  arrive  before  my  return,  which 
perhaps  will  not  be  till  1  February.  Still,  what 
you  write  will  be  sent  to  me  in  the  West.  I  have 
not  time  for  another  line,  and  only  write  this  that 
I  may  not  be  heinously  negligent  where  your 
genius  and  the  high  Fate  that  seem  to  accompany 
you  have  right  to  demand  instant  service.  I  shall 
strive  to  find  a  breathing  time  to  say  so  much  to 
your  friends.     Respectfully  and  gratefully, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  D.  S.  Bacon. 

Before  this  relief,  however,  small  as  it  was, 
could  be  expected,  her  extremity  was  already  ab- 
solute. On  the  20th  of  December  an  evidently 
hasty  note,  written  both  to  her  brother  and  a  sis- 
ter, attests  it.  She  writes  asking  for  special  care 
about  her  copyright,  for  which  her  solicitude  has 
now  a  pathetic  look,  and  proceeds :  "  Money  from 
some  quarter  I  must  have  immediatel}^  A  little 
delay  will  make  the  difference  between  life  and 
death  to  me,  unless  for  the  sake  of   my  work  I 


96  DELTA   BACON. 

should  conclude  to  apply  to  the  American  minis- 
ter ;  nothing  else  would  induce  me  to  do  it.  I  am 
clearly  of  the  opinion  that  this  work  is  that  which 
is  wanting,  and  I  humbly  hope  that  I  may  live  to 
see  it  issued  safely,  but  I  do  not  expect  the  laws 
of  nature  to  be  altered  on  my  account,  though 
they  do  indeed  seem  to  have  been  well-nigh  mirac- 
ulously controlled,  for  I  have  lived  for  months  in 
the  lions'  den,  and  thus  far  God  has  shut  his 
mouth.  .  .  .  The  morning  of  the  longest  night, 
and  it  is  a  very  long  one,  is  at  hand." 

It  was  on  the  20th  of  November  that  dawn  be- 
gan to  gleam  in  the  west,  in  the  following  letter 
from  Messrs.  Dix  &  Edwards : 

10  Park  Place,  New  York,  Nov.  20,  1855. 

Madame  :  We  beg  to  say  that  the  chapter  of 
your  inquiry  into  the  authorship  of  Shakespeare's 
plays,  with  which  we  were  favored  through  Mr. 
Emerson,  will  appear  in  the  January  number  of 
"Putnam's  Monthly,"  when  it  will  be  paid  for  at 
the  rate  of  our  most  valued  contributors,  five  dol- 
lars a  page.  We  shall  take  the  liberty  to  express 
in  a  note  to  this  article  the  hope  that  the  series 
may  be  continued  in  our  pages,  and  we  trust  it 
may  suit  your  convenience  to  forward  a  second 
chapter  without  any  delay,  in  order  that  it  may 
appear  in  the  February  number. 

Moreover,  should  you  have  made  no  other 
arrangements,  we  shall  be  happy  to  treat  with  you 


DELIA   BACON.  97 

for  the  publication  of  the  whole  after  so  much  of 
it  as  you  may  desire  shall  have  appeared  in  a 
serial  form. 

In  the  number  for  January,  1856,  "  Putnam's 
Monthly"  began  its  seventh  half-yearly  volume. 
It  was  then  the  chief  American  magazine  of  the 
lighter  literature;  for  the  "Atlantic  Monthly," 
which  replaced  it,  did  not  begin  until  the  follow- 
ing year.  The  opening  article  of  the  January 
number  was  that  which  follows. 


X. 


WILLIAM    SHAKESPEARE    AND     HIS     PLAYS  :     AN    IN- 
QUIPtY     CONCERNING    THEM.^ 

How  can  we  undertake  to  account  for  the  liter- 
ary miracles  of  antiquity,  while  this  great  myth 
of  the  modern  ages  still  lies  at  our  own  door  un- 
questioned ? 

This  vast,  magical,  unexplained  phenomenon, 
which  our  own  times  have  produced  under  our 
own  eyes,  appears  to  be,  indeed,  the  only  thing 
which  our  modern  rationalism  is  not  to  be  per- 
mitted to  meddle  with.  For  here  the  critics 
themselves  still  veil  their  faces,  filliug  the  air  with 
mystic  utterances  which  seem  to  say,  that  to  this 
shrine  at  least,  for  the  footstep  of  the  common 
reason  and  the  common  sense,  there  is  yet  no  ad- 
mittance.    But  how  can  they  instruct  us  to  take 

^  In  commencing  the  publication  of  these  bold,  original,  and  most 
ingenious  and  interesting  speculations  upon  the  real  authorship  of 
Shakespeare's  plays,  it  is  proper  for  the  editor  of  Putnam's  Monthly, 
in  disclaiming  all  responsibility  for  their  startling  view  of  the  ques- 
tion, to  say  that  they  are  the  result  of  long  and  conscientious  inves- 
tigation on  the  part  of  the  learned  and  eloquent  scholar,  their  author  ; 
and  that  the  editor  has  reason  to  hope  that  they  will  be  continued 
through  some  future  numbers  of  the  Magazine.     \_Editorial  Note."] 


DELIA   BACON.  99 

off  here  the  sandals  which  they  themselves  have 
taught  us  to  wear  into  the  inmost  sekos  of  the 
most  ancient  sanctities  ? 

The  Shakespeake  Dkama,  —  its  import,  its  limi- 
tations, its  object  and  sources,  its  beginning  and 
end,  —  for  the  modern  critic,  that  is  surely  now  the 
question. 

What,  indeed,  should  we  know  of  the  origin  of 
the  Homeric  poems  ?  Twenty-five  hundred  years 
ago,  when  those  mystic  characters,  which  the 
learned  Phenician  and  Egyptian  had  brought  in 
vain  to  the  singing  Greek  of  the  Heroic  Ages,  be- 
gan, in  the  new  modifications  of  national  life  which 
the  later  admixtures  of  foreign  elements  created, 
at  length  to  be  put  to  their  true  uses,  that  song  of 
the  nation,  even  in  its  latest  form,  was  already  old 
on  the  lips  of  the  learned,  and  its  origin  a  tra- 
dition. All  the  history  of  that  wonderful  individu- 
ality wherein  the  inspirations  of  so  many  ages  were 
at  last  united,  —  the  circumstance,  the  vicissitude, 
the  poetic  life,  that  had  framed  that  dazzling  mir- 
ror of  old  time,  and  wrought  in  it  those  depths  of 
clearness,  —  all  had  gone  before  the  art  of  writing 
and  memories  had  found  its  way  into  Greece,  or 
even  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  actual  had 
begun  to  be  developed  there. 

And  yet  are  the  scholars  of  our  time  content  to 
leave  this  matter  here  where  they  find  it  ?  With 
these  poetic  remains  in  their  hands,  the  monu- 
ments of  a  genius  whose  date  is  ante-historical,  are 


100  DELIA   BACON. 

they  content  to  know  of  their  origin  only  what 
Alexander  and  Plato  could  know,  what  Solon  and 
Pisistratus  were  fain  to  content  themselves  with, 
what  the  Homerids  themselves  received  of  him  as 
their  ancestral  patron  ? 

No:  with  these  works  in  their  hands  to-day, 
reasoning  from  them  alone,  with  no  collateral  aids, 
with  scarce  an  extant  monument  of  the  age  from 
which  they  come  to  us,  they  are  not  afraid  to  fly 
in  the  face  of  all  antiquity  with  their  conclusions. 

Have  they  not  settled  among  them  already  the 
old  dispute  of  the  contending  cities,  the  old  dispute 
of  the  contending  ages,  too,  for  the  honor  of  this 
poet's  birth  ?  Do  they  not  take  him  to  pieces  be- 
fore our  eyes,  this  venerable  Homer ;  and  tell  us 
how  many  old  forgotten  poets'  ashes  went  to  his 
formation,  and  trace  in  him  the  mosaic  scenes 
which  eluded  the  scrutiny  of  the  age  of  Pericles  ? 
Even  Mr.  Grote  will  tell  us  now,  just  where  the 
Iliad  "  cuts  me  "  the  fiery  Achilles  "  cranking  in ; " 
and  what  could  hinder  the  learned  Schlegel,  years 
ago,  from  setting  his  chair  in  the  midst  of  the 
Delian  choirs,  confronting  the  confounded  children 
of  Ion  with  his  definitions  of  the  term  Homeros, 
and  demonstrating,  from  the  Leipsic  Iliad  in  his 
hand,  that  the  poet's  contemporaries  had,  in  fact, 
named  him  Homer  the  Seer,  not  Homer  the  Blind 
One? 

The  criticism  of  our  age  found  this  whole  ques- 
tion where  the  art  of  writing  found  it  two  thou- 


DELIA   BACON.  101 

sand  five  hundred  years  ago  ;  but  because  the  Io- 
nian cities,  and  Solon,  and  Pisistratus  might  be  pre- 
sumed beforehand  to  know  at  least  as  much  about 
it  as  they,  or  because  the  opinions  of  twenty-five 
centuries  in  such  a  case  might  seem  to  be  entitled 
to  some  reverence,  did  the  critics  leave  it  there  ? 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  our  poet  — 
our  Homer  —  was  alive  in  the  world.  Two  cen- 
turies and  a  half  ago,  when  the  art  of  letters  was 
already  millenniums  old  in  Europe,  when  the  art  of 
printing  had  already  been  in  use  a  century  and  a 
half,  in  the  midst  of  a  contemporary  historical  illu- 
mination which  has  its  equal  nowhere  in  history, 
those  works  were  issued  that  have  given  our  Eng- 
lish life  and  language  their  imperishable  claim  in 
the  earth,  that  have  made  the  name  in  which  they 
come  to  us  a  word  by  itself  in  the  human  speech ; 
and  to  this  hour  we  know  of  their  origin  hardly 
so  much  as  we  knew  of  the  origin  of  the  Homeric 
epics  when  the  present  discussions  in  regard  to 
them  commenced,  7iot  so  much  —  not  a  hundredth 
part  so  much  — as  we  now  know  of  Pharaohs  who 
reigned  in  the  valley  of  the  Nile  ages  before  the 
invasion  of  the  Hyksos. 

But  with  these  products  of  the  national  life  in 
our  hands,  with  all  the  contemporary  light  on  their 
implied  conditions  which  such  an  age  as  that  of 
Elizabeth  can  furnish,  are  we  going  to  be  able  to 
sit  still  much  longer,  in  a  period  of  historical 
inquiry  and   criticism   like    this,  under  the  gross 


102  DELIA   BACON. 

impossibilities  which  the  still  accepted  theory  on 
this  subject  involves  ? 

The  age  which  has  put  back  old  Homer's  eyes 
safe  in  his  head  again,  after  he  had  gone  without 
them  well-nigh  three  thousand  years;  the  age 
which  has  found,  and  labeled,  and  sent  to  the  mu- 
seum, the  skull  in  which  the  pyramid  of  Cheops 
was  designed,  and  the  lions  which  ''  the  mighty 
hunter  before  the  Lord  "  ordered  for  his  new  pal- 
ace on  the  Tigris  some  millenniums  earlier ;  the  age 
in  which  we  have  abjured  our  faith  in  Romulus 
and  Remus,  —  is  surely  one  in  which  we  may  be 
permitted  to  ask  this  question. 

Shall  this  crowning  literary  product  of  that  great 
epoch  wherein  these  new  ages  have  their  begin- 
ning, vividly  arrayed  in  its  choicest  refinements ; 
flashing  everywhere  on  the  surface  with  its  cost- 
liest wit ;  crowded  everywhere  with  its  subtlest 
scholasticisms ;  betraying  on  every  page  its  broad- 
est, freshest  range  of  experience,  its  most  varied 
culture,  its  profoundest  insight,  its  boldest  grasp 
of  comprehension,  —  shall  this  crowning  result  of 
so  many  preceding  ages  of  growth  and  culture, 
with  its  essential  and  now  palpable  connection 
with  the  new  scientific  movement  of  the  time  from 
which  it  issues,  be  able  to  conceal  from  us  much 
longer  its  history  ?  Shall  we  be  able  to  accept 
in  explanation  of  it,  much  longer,  the  story  of  the 
Stratford  poacher  ? 

The  popular  and  traditional  theory  of  the  origin 


DELIA   BACON.  103 

of  these  works  was  received  and  transmitted  after 
the  extraordinary  circumstances  which  led  to  its 
first  imposition  had  ceased  to  exist,  because,  in 
fact,  no  one  had  any  motive  for  taking  the  trouble 
to  call  it  in  question.  The  common  disposition  to 
receive  in  good  faith  a  statement  of  this  kind, 
however  extraordinary ;  the  natural,  intellectual 
preference  of  the  affirmative  proposition  at  hand, 
as  the  explanation  of  a  given  phenomenon,  when 
the  negative  or  the  doubt  compels  one  to  launch 
out  for  himself  in  search  of  new  positions,  —  this 
alone  might  serve  to  account  for  this  result,  at  a 
time  when  criticism  as  yet  was  not ;  when  the 
predominant  mental  habit,  on  all  ordinary  ques- 
tions, was  still  that  of  passive  acceptance,  and  the 
most  extraordinary  excitements,  on  questions  of 
the  most  momentous  interest,  could  only  rouse 
the  public  mind  to  assume  temporarily  any  other 
attitude. 

And  the  impression  which  these  works  produced, 
even  in  their  first  imperfect  mode  of  exhibition, 
was  already  so  profound  and  extraordinary  as  to 
give  to  all  the  circumstances  of  their  attributed 
origin  a  blaze  of  notoriety  tending  to  enhance  this 
positive  force  in  the  tradition.  Propounded  as  a 
fact,  not  as  a  theory,  its  very  boldness —  its  start- 
ling improbability —  was  made  at  once  to  contribute 
to  its  strength ;  covering  beforehand  the  whole 
ground  of  attack.  The  wonderful  origin  of  these 
works  was,  from  the  first,  the  predominant  point 


104  DELIA  BACON. 

in  the  impression  they  made,  —  the  prominent  mar- 
vel in  those  marvels  around  which  all  the  new 
wonders  that  the  later  criticism  evolved  still  con- 
tinued to  arrange  themselves. 

For  the  discoveries  of  this  criticism  had  yet  no 
tendency  to  suggest  any  new  belief  on  this  point. 
In  the  face  of  all  that  new  appreciation  of  the 
works  themselves  which  was  involved  in  them, 
the  story  of  that  wondrous  origin  could  still  main- 
tain its  footing  ;  through  all  the  ramifications  of 
this  criticism,  it  still  grew  and  inwound  itself,  not 
without  vital  limitation,  however,  to  the  criticism 
thus  entangled.  But  these  new  discoveries  in- 
volved, for  a  time,  conclusions  altogether  in  keep- 
ing with  the  tradition. 

This  new  force  in  literature,  for  which  books 
contained  no  precedent;  this  new  manifestation 
of  creative  energy,  with  its  self-sustained  vitali- 
ties ;  with  its  inexhaustible  prodigality,  mocking 
nature  herself ;  with  its  new  grasp  of  the  whole 
circuit  of  human  aims  and  activities, — this  force,  so 
unlike  anything  that  scholasticism  or  art  had  ever 
before  produced,  though  it  came  in  fact  with  the 
sweep  of  all  the  ages,  moved  with  all  their  slow 
accumulation,  could  not  account  for  itself  to  those 
critics  as  anything  but  a  new  and  mystic  mani- 
festation of  nature,  —  a  new  upwelling  of  the 
occult  vital  forces  underlying  our  phenomenal 
existence  ;  invading  the  historic  order  with  one 
capricious  leap,  laughing  at  history,   telling  the 


DELIA   BACON.  105 

laboring  ages  that  their  sweat  and  blood  had  been 
in  vain. 

And  the  tradition  at  hand  was  entirely  in  har- 
mony with  this  conception.  For  to  this  super- 
human genius,  bringing  with  it  its  own  laws  and 
intuitions  from  some  outlying  region  of  life  not 
subject  to  our  natural  conditions,  and  not  to  be 
included  in  our  "  philosophy,"  the  differences  be- 
tween man  and  man,  natural  or  acquired,  would, 
of  course,  seem  trivial.  What  could  any  culture, 
or  any  merely  natural  endowment,  accomplish  that 
would  furnish  the  required  explanation  of  this 
result?  And,  by  way  of  defining  itself  as  an 
agency  wholly  supernal,  was  it  not,  in  fact,  neces- 
sary that  it  should  select  as  its  organ  one  in  whom 
the  natural  conditions  of  the  highest  intellectual 
manifestations  were  obviously,  even  grossly,  want- 
ing ? 

With  this  theory  of  it,  no  one  need  find  it  strange 
that  it  should  pass  in  its  selection  those  grand  old 
cities  where  Learning  sat  enthroned  with  all  her 
time-honored  array  of  means  and  appliances  for 
the  development  of  mental  resource,  —  where  the 
genius  of  England  had  hitherto  been  accomplished 
for  all  its  triumphs,  —  and  that  it  should  pass  the 
lofty  centres  of  church  and  state,  and  the  crowded 
haunts  of  professional  life,  where  the  mental  activ- 
ities of  the  time  were  gathered  to  its  conflicts; 
where,  in  hourly  collision,  each  strong  individu- 
ality was  printing  itself  upon  a  thousand  others, 


106  DELIA   BACON. 

and  taking  in  turn  from  all  their  impress ;  where, 
in  the  thick-coming  change  of  that  "  time-better- 
ing age,"  in  its  crowding  multiplicities,  and  varie- 
ties, and  oppositions,  life  grew  warm,  and  in  the 
old  the  new  was  stirring,  and  in  the  many  the 
one  ;  where  wit,  and  philosophy,  and  fancy,  and 
humor,  in  the  thickest  onsets  of  the  hour,  were 
learning  to  veil  in  courtly  phrase,  in  double  and 
triple  meanings,  in  crowding  complexities  of  con- 
ceits and  unimagined  subtleties  of  form,  the  free- 
doms that  the  time  had  nurtured ;  where  genius 
flashed  up  from  all  her  hidden  sources,  and  the 
soul  of  the  age  —  "  the  mind  reflecting  ages  past" 
—  was  collecting  itself,  and  ready  even  then  to 
leap  forth,  *'  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time." 

And,  indeed,  was  it  not  fitting  that  this  new  in- 
spiration which  was  to  reveal  the  latent  forces  of 
Nature  and  her  scorn  of  conditions,  —  fastening 
her  contempt  for  all  time  upon  the  pride  of  human 
culture  at  its  height,  —  was  it  not  fitting  that  it 
should  select  this  moment  of  all  others,  and  this 
locality,  that  it  might  pass  by  that  very  centre  of 
historical  influences  which  the  court  of  Elizabeth 
then  made,  —  that  it  might  involve  in  its  perpetual 
eclipse  that  immortal  group  of  heroes,  and  states- 
men, and  scholars,  and  wits,  and  poets,  with  its 
enthroned  king  of  thought,  taking  all  the  past  for 
his  inheritance,  and  claimins;  the  minds  of  men  in 
all  futurity  as  the  scene  and  limit  of  his  dominion  ? 
Yes,  even  he  —  he  whose  thought  would  grasp  the 


DELIA  BACON.  107 

whole,  and  keep  his  grasp  on  it  perpetual  —  speaks 
to  us  still  out  of  that  cloud  of  mockery  that  fell 
upon  him  when  "  Great  Nature  "   passed  him  by 

—  even  him  —  with  his  immortal  longings,  with 
his  world-wide  aims,  with  his  new  mastery  of  her 
secrets,  too,  and  his  new  sovereignty  over  her, 
to  drop  her  crown  of  immortality,  lit  with  the 
finest  essence  of  that  which  makes  his  own  page 
immortal,  on  the  brow  of  the  pet  horse-boy  at 
Blackf riars,  —  the  wit  and  good  fellow  of  the  Lon- 
don link-holders,  the  menial  attache  and  eltve  of 
the  play-house,  the  future  actor,  and  joint  pro- 
prietor, of  the  New  Theatre  on  the  Bankside. 

Who  quarrels  with  this  movement  ?  Who  does 
not  find  it  fitting  and  pleasant  enough  ?  Let  the 
"  thrice  three  muses  "  go  into  mourning  as  deep  as 
they  will  for  this  desertion,  —  as  desertion  it  was  — 
for  we  all  know  that  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life 
this  fellow  cared  never  a  farthing  for  them,  but 
only  for  his  gains  at  their  hands ;  let  Learning 
hide  as  she  best  may  her  baffled  head  in  this  dis- 
grace, —  who  cares  ?  Who  does  not  rather  laugh 
with  great  creating  Nature  in  her  triumph  ? 

At  least,  who  would  be  willing  to  admit,  for  a 
moment,  that  there  was  one  in  all  that  contempo- 
rary circle  of  accomplished  scholars,  and  men  of 
vast  and  varied  genius,  capable  of  writing  these 
plays  ;  and  who  feels  the  least  difficulty  in  suppos- 
ing that  "  this  player  here,"  as  Hamlet  terms  him, 

—  the  whole  force  of  that  outburst  of  scorn  inef- 


108  DELIA   BACON. 

fable  bearing  on  the  word,  and  on  that  which  it 
represented  to  him,  —  who  doubts  that  this  player 
is  most  abundantly  and  superabundantly  compe- 
tent to  it  ? 

Now  that  the  deer-stealing  fire  has  gone  out  of 
him,  now  that  this  youthful  impulse  has  been 
taught  its  conventional  social  limits,  sobered  into 
the  mild,  sagacious,  witty  "  Mr.  Shakespeare  of  the 
Globe,"  distinguished  for  the  successful  manage- 
ment of  his  own  fortunes,  for  his  upright  dealings 
with  his  neighbors,  too,  and  *'  his  facetious  grace 
in  writing,"  patronized  by  men  of  rank,  who  in- 
clude his  theatre  among  their  instrumentalities  for 
affecting  the  popular  mind,  and  whose  relations  to 
him  are,  in  fact,  identical  with  those  which  Hamlet 
sustains  to  the  players  of  his  piece,  what  is  to 
hinder  this  Mr.  Shakespeare  —  the  man  who  keeps 
the  theatre  on  the  Bankside  —  from  working  him- 
self into  a  frenzy  when  he  likes,  and  scribbling  out 
unconsciously  Lears,  and  Macbeths,  and  Hamlets, 
merely  as  the  necessary  dialogue  to  the  spectacles 
he  professionally  exhibits  ;  ay,  and  what  is  to  hin- 
der his  boiling  his  kettle  with  the  manuscripts, 
too,  when  he  has  done  with  them,  if  he  chooses  ? 

What  it  would  be  madness  to  suppose  the  most 
magnificently  endowed  men  of  that  wondrous  age 
could  accomplish  —  its  real  men,  those  who  have 
left  their  lives  in  it,  woven  in  its  web  throughout 
—  what  it  would  be  madness  to  suppose  these  men, 
w^ho  are  but  men,  and  known  as  such,  could  ac- 


DELIA   BACON.  109 

complish,  this  Mr.  Shakespeare,  actor  and  manager, 
of  whom  no  one  knows  anything  else,  shall  be  able 
to  do  for  you  in  "  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,"  with- 
out so  much  as  knowing  it,  and  there  shall  be  no 
words  about  it ! 

And  are  not  the  obscurities  that  involve  his  life, 
so  impenetrably  in  fact,  the  true  Shakespearean 
element  ?  In  the  boundless  sea  of  negation  which 
surrounds  that  play-house  centre,  surely  he  can 
unroll  himself  to  any  length,  or  gather  himself  into 
any  shape  or  attitude,  which  the  criticism  in  hand 
may  call  for.  There  is  nothing  to  bring  up  against 
him,  with  one's  theories.  For,  here  in  this  day- 
light of  our  modern  criticism,  in  its  noontide  glare, 
has  he  not  contrived  to  hide  himself  in  the  pro- 
foundest  depths  of  that  stuff  that  myths  are  made 
of?  Who  shall  come  in  competition  with  him 
here  ?  Who  shall  dive  into  the  bottom  of  that  sea 
to  pluck  his  drowned  honors  from  him  ? 

Take,  one  by  one,  the  splendid  men  of  this 
Elizabethan  age,  and  set  them  down  with  a  Ham- 
let to  write,  and  you  will  say  beforehand,  such  an 
one  cannot  do  it,  nor  such  an  one,  —  nor  he,  with 
that  profoundest  insight  and  determination  of  his 
which  taught  him  to  put  physical  nature  to  the 
question  that  he  might  wring  from  her  her  se- 
crets; but  humanity,  human  nature,  of  course, 
had  none  worth  noting  for  him ;  —  oh  no ;  he,  with 
his  infinite  wit  and  invention,  with  his  worlds  of 
covert  humor,  with  his  driest  prose,  pressed,  burst- 


110  DELIA   BACON. 

ing  with  Shakespearean  beauty,  he  could  not  do  it, 
nor  he,  with  his  Shakespearean  acquaintance  with 
life,  with  his  Shakespearean  knowledge  of  men 
under  all  the  differing  social  conditions,  at  home 
and  abroad,  by  land  and  by  sea,  with  his  world- 
wide experiences  of  nature  and  fortune,  with  the 
rush  and  outbreak  of  his  fiery  mind  kindling  and 
darting  through  all  his  time ;  he,  with  his  Shake- 
spearean grace  and  freedom,  with  his  versatile  and 
profound  acquirements,  with  his  large,  genial,  gen- 
erous, prodigal,  Shakespearean  soul  that  would 
comprehend  all,  and  ally  itself  with  all,  he  could 
not  do  it ;  neither  of  these  men,  nor  both  of  them 
together,  nor  all  the  wits  of  the  age  together :  — 
but  this  Mr.  Shakespeare  of  the  Globe,  this  mild, 
respectable,  obliging  man,  this  "  Johannes  Facto- 
tum "  (as  a  contemporary  calls  him,  laughing  at 
the  idea  of  his  undertaking  "a  blank  verse"),  is 
there  any  difficulty  here  ?  Oh  no  !  None  in  the 
world :  for,  in  the  impenetrable  obscurity  of  that 
illimitable  green-room  of  his,  "by  the  mass,  he 
is  anything,  and  he  can  do  anything,  and  that 
roundly  too." 

Is  it  wonderful  ?  And  is  not  that  what  we  like 
in  it  ?  Would  you  make  a  man  of  him  ?  With 
this  miraculous  inspiration  of  his,  would  you  ask 
anything  else  of  him  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  you 
touch  the  Shakespearean  essence,  with  a  question 
as  to  motives,  and  possibilities?  Would  he  be 
Shakespeare  still,  if  he  should  permit  you  to  ham- 


DELIA   BACON.  Ill 

per  him  with  conditions  ?  What  is  t-he  meaning 
of  that  word,  then  ?  And  will  you  not  leave  him 
to  us  ?  Shall  we  have  no  Shakespeare  ?  Have 
we  not  scholars  enough,  and  wits  enough,  and 
men,  of  every  other  kind  of  genius,  enough,  —  but 
have  we  many  Shakespeares  ?  —  that  you  should 
wish  to  run  this  one  through  with  your  questions, 
this  one,  great,  glorious,  infinite  impossibility,  that 
has  had  us  in  its  arms,  all  our  lives  from  the  begin- 
ning ?  If  you  dissolve  him,  do  you  not  dissolve  us 
with  him  ?  If  you  take  him  to  pieces,  do  you  not 
undo  us,  also  ? 

Ah,  surely  we  did  not  need  this  master  spirit  of 
our  race  to  tell  us  that  there  is  that  in  the  foun- 
dation of  this  human  soul,  "  that  loves  to  appre- 
hend more  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends," 
nay,  that  there  is  an  infinity  in  it,  that  finds  her 
ordinances  too  straight,  that  will  leap  from  them 
when  it  can,  and  shake  the  head  at  her.  And  have 
we  not  all  lived  once  in  regions  full  of  people  that 
were  never  compelled  to  give  an  account  of  them- 
selves in  any  of  these  matters  ?  And  when,  pre- 
cisely, did  we  pass  that  charmed  line,  beyond 
which  these  phantoms  cannot  come  ?  When  was 
the  word  definitively  spoken  which  told  us  that  the 
childhood  of  the  race  was  done,  or  that  its  grown- 
up children  were  to  have  henceforth  no  conjurers  ? 
Who  yet  has  heard  the  crowing  of  that  cock,  "  at 
whose  warning,  whether  in  earth  or  air,  the  ex- 
travagant and  erring  spirit  hies  to  his  confine  "  ? 


112  DELIA   BACON. 

The  nuts,  indeed,  are  all  cracked  long  ago,  whence 
of  old  the  fairy  princess,  in  her  coach  and  six, 
drove  out  so  freely  with  all  her  regal  retinue,  to 
crown  the  hero's  fortunes ;  and  the  rusty  lamp, 
that  once  filled  the  dim  hut  of  poverty  with  East- 
ern splendors,  has  lost  its  capabilities.  But  when 
our  youth  robbed  us  of  these,  had  it  not  marvels 
and  impossibilities  of  its  own  to  replace  them  with, 
yet  more  magical  ?  and  surely,  manhood  itself,  the 
soberest  maturity,  cannot  yet  be  without  these 
substitutes ;  and  it  is  nature's  own  voice  and  out- 
cry that  we  hear  whenever  one  of  them  is  taken 
from  us. 

Let  him  alone  !  We  have  lecturers  enough  and 
professors  enough  already.  Let  him  alone !  We 
will  keep  this  one  mighty  conjurer  still,  even  in 
the  place  where  men  most  do  congregate,  and  no- 
body shall  stir  a  hair  on  his  impossible  old  head,  or 
trouble  him  with  a  question.  He  shall  stand  there 
still,  pulling  interminable  splendors  out  of  places 
they  never  could  have  been  in ;  that  is  the  charm 
of  it ;  he  shall  stand  there  rubbing  those  few  sickly 
play-house  manuscripts  of  his,  or  a  few,  old,  musty 
play-house  novels,  and  wringing  from  them  the 
very  wine  of  all  our  life,  showering  from  their 
greasy  folds  the  gems  and  gold  of  all  the  ages ! 
He  shall  stand  there,  spreading,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  for  a  single  night  in  a  dirty  theatre,  "  to 
complete  a  purchase  that  he  has  a  mind  to,"  the 
feasts  of  the  immortal  gods;   and  before  our  lips 


DELIA  BACON.  113 

can,  by  any  chance,  have  reached  even  the  edge  of 
those  cups,  that  open  down  into  infinity,  when  the 
show  has  served  his  purpose,  he  shall  whisk  it  all 
away  again,  and  leave  no  wreck  behind,  except  by 
accident ;  and  none  shall  remonstrate,  or  say  to 
him,  '•  wherefore  ?  "  He  shall  stand  there  still,  for 
us  all  —  the  magician;  nature's  one,  complete,  in- 
contestable, gorgeous  triumph  over  the  impossibil- 
ities of  reason. 

For  the  primary  Shakespearean  condition  in- 
volves at  present,  not  merely  the  accidental  ab- 
sence of  those  external  means  of  intellectual  en- 
largement and  perfection,  whereby  the  long  arts 
of  the  ages  are  made  to  bring  to  the  individual 
mind  their  last  results,  multiplying  its  single  forces 
with  the  life  of  all ;  —  but  it  requires  also  the  ab- 
sence of  all  personal  intellectual  tastes,  aims,  and 
pursuits ;  it  requires  that  this  man  shall  be  below 
all  other  men,  in  his  sordid  incapacity  for  appre- 
ciating intellectual  values  ;  it  requires  that  he  shall 
be  able,  not  merely  to  witness  the  performance  of 
these  plays,  not  merely  to  hear  them  and  read 
them  for  himself,  but  to  compose  them ;  it  requires 
him  to  be  able  to  compose  the  "Tempest,"  and 
"Othello,"  and  "Macbeth,"  without  suspecting 
that  there  is  anything  of  permanent  interest  in 
them  —  anything  that  will  outlast  the  spectacle  of 
the  hour. 

The  art  of  writing  had  been  already  in  use 
twenty -five  centuries  in  Europe,  and  a  Shake- 


114  DELIA   BACON. 

speare,  one  would  think,  might  have  been  able  to 
form  some  conception  of  its  value  and  applica- 
tions ;  the  art  of  printing  had  been  in  use  on  the 
continent  a  century  and  a  half,  and  it  was  already 
dartino;  throucjh  every  civilized  corner  of  it.  and 
through  England,  too,  no  uncertain  intimations 
of  its  historic  purport  —  intimations  significant 
enough  "  to  make  bold  power  look  pale  "  already 
—  and  one  would  think  a  Shakespeare  might  have 
understood  its  message.  But  no !  This  very 
spokesman  of  the  new  era  it  ushers  in,  trusted  with 
this  legacy  of  the  new-born  times ;  this  man,  whom 
we  all  so  look  up  to,  and  reverence,  with  that  in- 
alienable treasure  of  ours  in  his  hands,  which  even 
Ben  Jonson  knew  was  not  for  him,  "  nor  for  an 
age  —  but  for  all  time,"  why  this  Jack  Cade  that 
he  is  must  needs  take  us  back  three  thousand  years 
with  it,  and  land  us  at  the  gates  of  Ilium !  The 
arts  of  humanity  and  history,  as  they  stood  when 
Troy  was  burned,  must  save  this  treasure  for  us, 
and  be  our  means  of  access  to  it !  He  will  leave 
this  work  of  his,  into  which  the  ends  of  the  world 
have  come  to  be  inwrought  for  all  the  future,  he 
will  leave  it  where  Homer  left  his,  on  the  lips  of 
the  mouthing  "  rhapsodists  !  " 

Apparently,  indeed,  he  will  be  careful  to  teach 
these  "  robustious,  periwig-pated  fellows "  their 
proper  relations  to  him.  He  will  industriously  in- 
struct them  how  to  pronounce  his  dialogue,  so  as 
to  give  the  immediate  effect  intended  j  controlling 


DELIA   BACON.  115 

even  the  gesticulations,  insisting  on  the  stops,  rul- 
ing out  utterly  the  town-crier's  emphasis;  and, 
above  all,  protesting,  with  a  true  author's  jealousy, 
against  interpolation  or  any  meddling  with  his 
text.  Indeed,  the  directions  to  the  players,  which 
he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Hamlet  —  involving,  as 
they  do,  not  merely  the  nice  sensibility  of  the  ar- 
tist, and  his  nervous,  instinctive,  aesthetic  acquaint- 
ance with  his  art,  but  a  thorough  scientific  knowl- 
edge of  its  principles  —  these  directions  would 
have  led  us  to  infer  that  he  would,  at  least,  know 
enough  of  the  value  of  his  own  works  to  avail 
himself  of  the  printing-press  for  their  preserva- 
tion, and  not  only  that,  they  would  have  led  us  to 
expect  from  him  a  most  exquisitely  careful  revi- 
sion of  his  proofs.  But  how  is  it  ?  He  destroys, 
we  are  given  to  understand,  the  manuscripts  of 
his  unpublished  plays,  and  we  owe  to  accident,  and 
to  no  care  of  his  whatever,  his  works  as  they  have 
come  to  us.  Did  ever  the  human  mind  debase  it- 
self to  the  possibility  of  receiving  such  nonsense 
as  this,  on  any  subject,  before  ?  ^ 

He  had  those  manuscripts !    He  had  those  origi- 
nals which  publishers  and  scholars  would  give  mil- 

^  Though  the  editors  of  the  first  folio  profess  to  have  access  to 
these  very  papers,  and  boast  of  being  able  to  bring  out  an  absolutely 
faultless  edition,  to  take  the  place  of  those  stolen  and  surreptitious 
copies  then  in  circulation,  the  edition  which  is  actually  produced,  in 
connection  with  this  announcement,  is  itself  found  to  be  full  of  ver- 
bal errors,  and  is  supposed,  by  later  editors,  to  have  been  derived 
from  no  better  source  than  its  predecessors. 


116  DELIA  BACON. 

lions  now  to  purchase  a  glimpse  of ;  he  had  the 
original  Hamlet,  with  its  last  finish ;  he  had  the 
original  Lear,  with  his  own  final  readings ;  he  had 
them  all  —  all,  pointed,  emphasized,  directed,  as 
they  came  from  the  gods ;  he  had  them  all,  all  fin- 
ished as  the  critic  of  "Hamlet"  and  "Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  "  must  have  finished  them ;  and  he 
left  us  to  wear  out  our  youth,  and  squander  our 
lifetime,  in  poring  over  and  setting  right  the  old, 
garbled  copies  of  the  play-house !  He  had  those 
manuscripts,  and  the  printing-press  had  been  at  its 
work  a  hundred  years  when  he  was  born,  but  he 
was  not  ashamed  to  leave  the  best  wits  and  schol- 
ars of  all  succeeding  ages,  with  Pope  and  Johnson 
at  their  head,  to  exhaust  their  ingenuity,  and  sour 
their  dispositions,  and  to  waste  their  golden  hours, 
year  after  year,  in  groping  after  and  guessing  out 
his  hidden  meanings ! 

He  had  those  manuscripts !  In  the  name  of 
that  sovereign  reason,  whose  name  he  dares  to  take 
upon  his  lips  so  often,  what  did  he  do  with  them  ? 
Did  he  wantonly  destroy  them  ?  No  !  Ah,  no ! 
he  did  not  care  enous-h  for  them  to  take  that  trou- 
ble.  No,  he  did  not  do  that!  That  would  not 
have  been  in  keeping  with  the  character  of  this 
most  respectable  impersonation  of  the  Genius  of 
the  British  Isle,  as  it  stands  set  up  for  us  at  pres- 
ent to  worship.  Some  worthy,  domestic,  private, 
economic  use,  doubtless,  they  were  put  to.  For, 
is  not  he  a  private,  economical,  practical  man  — 


DELIA   BACON.  117 

this  Shakespeare  of  ours  —  with  no  stuff  and  non- 
sense about  him  —  a  plain,  true-blooded  English- 
man, who  minds  his  own  business,  and  leaves  other 
people  to  take  care  of  theirs  ?  Is  not  this  our 
Shakespeare  ?  Is  it  not  the  boast  of  England, 
that  he  is  just  that,  and  nothing  else  ?  "  What  did 
he  do  with  them  ?  "  He  gave  them  to  his  cook, 
or  Dr.  Hale  put  up  potions  for  his  patients  in 
them,  or  Judith,  poor  Judith,  —  who  signified  her 
relationship  to  the  author  of  "  Lear "  and  the 
"  Tempest,"  and  her  right  to  the  glory  of  the 
name  he  left  her,  by  the  very  extraordinary  kind 
of  "  mark  "  which  she  affixes  to  legal  instruments, 
—  poor  Judith  may  have  curled  her  hair  to  the 
day  of  her  death  with  them,  without  dreaming  of 
any  harm.  "  What  did  he  do  with  them  ?  "  And 
whose  business  is  it  ?  Were  n't  they  his  own  ?  If 
he  chose  to  burn  them  up,  or  put  them  to  some 
private  use,  had  not  he  a  perfect  right  to  do  it  ? 

No !  Traitor  and  miscreant !  No !  What  did 
you  do  with  them  ?  You  have  skulked  this  ques- 
tion long  enough.  You  will  have  to  account  for 
them.  You  will  have  to  tell  us  what  you  did  with 
them.  The  awakening  ages  will  put  you  on  the 
stand,  and  you  will  not  leave  it  until  you  answer 
the  question,  "  What  did  you  do  with  them  ?  " 

And  yet,  do  not  the  critics  dare  to  boast  to  us, 
that  he  did  compose  these  works  for  his  own  pri- 
vate, particular  ends  only  ?  Do  they  not  tell  us, 
as  if  it  were  a  thing  to  be  proud  of,  and  "  a  thing 


118  DELIA   BACON. 

to  thank  God  on,"  with  uplifted  eyes,  and  speech- 
less admiration  points,  that  he  did  "  die,  and  leave 
the  world  no  copy  "  ?  But  who  is  it  that  insists 
so  much,  so  strangely,  so  repetitiously,  upon  the 
wrong  to  humanity,  the  fraud  done  to  nature,  when 
the  individual  fails  to  render  in  his  account  to  time 
of  all  that  nature  gives  him?  Who  is  it  that 
writes,  obscurely  indeed,  so  many  sonnets,  only  to 
ring  the  changes  on  this  very  subject,  singing  out, 
point  by  point,  not  the  Platonic  theory,  but  his 
own  fresh  and  beautiful  study  of  great  nature's 
law,  and  his  own  new  and  scientific  doctrine  of 
conservation  and  advancement  ?  And  who  is  it 
that  writes,  unconsciously  no  doubt,  and  without 
its  ever  occurring  to  him  that  it  was  going  to  be 
printed,  or  to  be  read  by  any  one, 

^'■Thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee  "  ? 

For  here  is  the  preacher  of  another  doctrine, 
which  puts  the  good  that  is  private  and  particular 
w^here  the  sovereignty  that  is  in  nature  puts  it :  — 

"  Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do  ; 
Not  light  them  for  themselves.     For  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not  finely  touched 
But  to  fine  issues  ;  nor  nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence, 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 
Both  thanks  and  use." 

Truly  the  man  who  writes  in  this  style,  with 


DELIA   BACON.  119 

such  poetic  iteration,  might  put  in  Hamlet's  plea, 
when  his  critics  accuse  him  of  unconsciousness :  — 

"  Bring  me  to  the  test 
And  I  the  matter  will  re-word  ;  which  madness 
Would  gambol  from." 

What  infirmity  of  blindness  is  it,  then,  that  we 
charge  upon  this  "  god  of  our  idolatry "  ?  And 
what  new  race  of  Calibans  are  we,  that  we  should 
be  called  upon  to  worship  this  monstrous  incon- 
gruity —  this  Trinculo  —  this  impersonated  moral 
worthlessness  ?  Oh,  stupidity  past  finding  out ! 
"The  myriad-minded  one,"  the  light  of  far-olf  futu- 
rities was  in  him,  and  he  knew  it  not !  While  the 
word  was  on  his  lips,  and  he  reasoned  of  it,  he 
heeded  it  not !  He,  at  whose  feet  all  men  else  are 
proud  to  sit,  came  to  him,  and  found  no  reverence. 
The  treasure  for  us  all  was  put  into  his  hands,  and 
—  he  did  not  waste  it  —  he  did  not  keep  it  laid  up 
in  a  napkin,  he  did  not  dig  in  the  earth,  and  hide 
his  Lord's  money ;  no,  he  used  it !  he  used  it  for 
his  own  despicable  and  sordid  ends,  "  to  complete 
purchases  that  he  had  a  mind  to,"  and  he  left  us 
to  gather  up  "  the  arts  and  fragments  "  as  best  we 
may.  And  they  dare  to  tell  us  this  of  him,  and 
men  believe  it,  and  to  this  hour  his  bones  are 
canonized,  to  this  hour  his  tomb  is  a  shrine,  where 
the  genius  of  the  cool,  sagacious,  clear-thoughted 
Northern  Isle  is  worshipped,  under  the  form  of  a 
mad,  unconscious,  intellectual  possession  —  a  do- 
tard inspiration,  incapable  of  its  own  designs,  want- 


120  DELIA  BACON. 

ing  in  the  essential  attribute  of  all  mental  power 
—  self-cogfnition. 

And  yet,  who  would  be  willing  to  spare,  now, 
one  point  in  that  time-honored,  incongruous  whole  ? 
Who  would  be  willing  to  dispense  with  the  least  of 
those  contradictions,  which  have  become,  in  the 
progressive  development  of  our  appreciation  of 
these  works,  so  inextricably  knit  together,  and 
thereby  inwrought,  as  it  were,  into  our  inmost 
life  ?  Who  can,  in  fact,  fairly  convince  himself, 
now,  that  deer-stealing  and  link-holding,  and  the 
name  of  an  obscure  family  in  Stratford  —  common 
enough  there,  though  it  means  what  it  does  to  us — 
and  bad,  or  indifferent  performances,  at  a  Surrey 
theatre,  are  not  really,  after  all,  essential  prelimi- 
naries and  concomitants  to  the  composition  of  a 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  or  a  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,"  or  a  "  Twelfth  Night "  ?  And  what 
Shakespeare  critic,  at  least,  could  persuade  him- 
self, now,  that  any  other  motive  than  the  purchase 
of  the  Globe  theatre,  and  that  capital  messuage  or 
tenement  in  Stratford,  called  the  New  Place,  with 
the  appurtenances  thereof,  and  the  lands  adjoin- 
ing, and  the  house  in  Henley  Street,  could  by  any 
possibility  have  originated  such  works  as  these  ? 

And  what  fool  would  undertake  to  prove,  now, 
that  the  fact  of  the  deer-stealing,  or  any  other 
point  in  the  traditionary  statement,  may  admit  of 
question  ?  Certainly,  if  we  are  to  have  an  histor- 
ical or  traditionary  Shakespeare  of  any  kind,  out 


DELIA   BACON.  121 

of  our  present  materials,  it  becomes  us  to  protest, 
with  the  utmost  severity,  against  the  least  med- 
dling therewith.  If  they  are  not  sufficiently  mea- 
gre already  —  if  the  two  or  three  historical  points 
we  have,  or  seem  to  have,  and  the  miserable  scraps 
and  fragments  of  gossip  which  the  painful  explo- 
rations of  two  centuries  have,  at  length,  succeeded 
in  rescuing  from  the  oblivion  to  which  this  man's 
time  consigned  him  ^  —  if  these  points  are  to  be  en- 
croached upon,  and  impaired  by  criticism,  we  may 
as  well  throw  up  the  question  altogether.  In  the 
name  of  all  that  is  tangible,  leave  us  what  there 
is  of  affirmation  here.  Surely  we  have  negations 
enough  already.  If  he  did  not  steal  the  deer,  will 
you  tell  us  what  one  mortal  thing  he  did  do  ?  He 
wrote  the  plays.  But,  did  the  man  who  wrote  the 
plays  do  nothing  else  ?  Are  there  not  some  fore- 
gone conclusions  in  them  ?  —  some  intimations,  and 
round  ones,  too,  that  he  who  wrote  them,  be  he 
who  he  may,  has  had  experiences  of  some  sort  ? 
Do  such  things  as  these,  that  the  plays  are  full  of, 
begin  in  the  fingers'  ends  ?  Can  you  find  them 
in  an  ink-horn  ?  Can  you  sharpen  them  out  of  a 
goose-quill  ?  Has  your  Shakespeare  wit  and  in- 
vention enough  for  that  ? 

But  the  man  was  a  player,  and  the  manager  of 
a  play-house,  and  these  are  phiys  that  he  writes. 

^  Constituting,  when  well  put  together,  precisely  that  historic  trail 
which  an  old,  defunct,  indifferent,  fourth-rate  play-actor  naturally 
leaves  behind  him,  for  the  benefit  of  any  antiquary  who  may  find 
occasion  to  conduct  an  exploration  for  it. 


122  DELIA   BACON. 

And  what  kind  of  play  is  it  that  you  find  m 
them  —  and  what  is  the  theatre  —  and  who  are 
the  actors  ?  Has  this  man's  Hfe  been  all  play  ? 
Has  there  been  no  earnest  in  it  ?  —  no  acting  in 
his  own  name  ?  Had  he  no  part  of  his  own  in 
time,  then  ?  Has  he  dealt  evermore  with  second- 
hand reports,  unreal  shadows,  and  mockeries  of 
things?  Has  there  been  no  personal  grapple  with 
realities,  here  ?  Ah,  let  him  have  that  one  living 
opposite.  Leave  him  that  single  shot  "  heard 
round  the  world."  Did  not  ^schylus  fight  at  Sal- 
amis  ?  Did  not  Scipio  teach  Terence  how  to  mar- 
shal his  men  and  wing  his  words  ?  (A  contempo- 
rary and  confidant  of  Shakespeare's  thinks,  from 
internal  evidence,  that  the  patron  WTote  the  plays, 
in  this  case,  altogether.)  And  was  not  Socrates  as 
brave  at  Potidaea  and  Delium  as  he  was  in  the  mar- 
ket-place ;  and  did  not  Caesar,  the  author,  kill  his 
millions  ?  But  this  giant  wrestler  and  warrior  of 
ours,  with  the  essence  of  all  the  battles  of  all  ages 
in  his  nerves  —  with  the  blood  of  a  new  Adam 
bubbling  in  his  veins  —  he  cannot  be  permitted  to 
leap  out  of  those  everlasting  buskins  of  his,  long 
enoutrh  to  have  a  brush  with  this  one  live  deer, 
but  the  critics  must  have  out  their  spectacles,  and 
be  down  upon  him  with  their  objections. 

And  what  honest  man  would  want  a  Shake- 
speare at  this  hour  of  the  day  that  was  not  writ- 
ten by  that  same  irregular,  lawless,  wild,  reckless, 
facetious,  law-despising,  art-despising  genius  of  a 


DELIA   BACON.  123 

"  Will "  that  did  steal  the  deer  ?  Is  not  this  the 
Shakespeare  we  have  had  on  our  shelves  with  our 
bibles  and  prayer-books,  since  our  great-grandsires' 
times  ?  The  next  step  will  be  to  call  in  question 
Moses  in  the  bulrushes,  and  Pharaoh's  daughter. 

And  what  is  to  become,  too,  under  this  supposi- 
tion, of  that  exquisite  specimen  of  the  player's 
merciless  wit,  and  "  facetious  grace  in  writing," 
which  attracted  the  attention  of  his  contemporaries, 
and  left  such  keen  impressions  on  the  minds  of  his 
fellow-townsmen  ?  What  is  to  become,  in  this 
case,  of  the  famous  lampoon  on  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
nailed  up  on  the  park  gate,  rivaling  in  Shakespear- 
ean grace  and  sharpness  another  Attic  morceau 
from  the  same  source  —  the  impromptu  on  "  John- 
a-Combe  "  ?  These  remains  of  the  poet,  which  we 
find  accredited  to  him  in  his  native  village,  "  with 
likelihood  of  truth  enough,"  among  those  who 
best  knew  him,  have  certainly  cost  the  commenta- 
tors too  much  trouble  to  be  lightly  relinquished ; 
and,  unquestionably,  they  do  bear  on  the  face  of 
them  most  unmistakable  symptoms  of  the  player's 
wit  and  the  Stratford  origin. 

No !  no !  We  cannot  spare  the  deer-stealing. 
As  the  case  now  stands,  this  one,  rich,  sparkling 
point  in  the  tradition  can  by  no  means  be  dis- 
pensed with.  Take  this  away,  and  what  becomes 
of  our  traditional  Shakespeare  ?  He  goes  !  The 
whole  fabric  tumbles  to  pieces,  or  settles  at  once 
into  a  hopeless  stolidity.     But  for  the  mercurial 


124  DELIA   BACON. 

lightning,  which  this  youthful  reminiscence  im- 
parts to  him  —  this  single  indication  of  a  sup- 
pressed tendency  to  an  heroic  life  —  how  could 
that  heavy,  retired  country  gentleman,  late  man- 
ager of  the  Globe  and  the  Blackfriars  theatres,  be 
made  to  float  at  any  convenient  distance  above  the 
earth,  in  the  laboring  conceptions  of  the  artists 
whose  business  it  is  to  present  his  apotheosis  to 
us  ?  Enlarge  the  vacant  platitudes  of  that  fore- 
head as  you  will ;  pile  up  the  artificial  brains  in 
the  frontispiece  to  any  height  which  the  credulity 
of  an  awe-struck  public  will  hesitate  to  pronounce 
idiotic ;  huddle  the  allegorical  shapes  about  him  as 
thickly  as  you  will ;  and  yet,  but  for  the  twinkle 
which  this  single  reminiscence  leaves,  this  one  soli- 
tary "  proof  of  liberty,"  "  the  flash  and  outbreak 
of  a  fiery  mind  of  general  assault,"  how  could  the 
old  player  and  showman  be  made  to  sit  the  bird  of 
Jove,  so  comfortably  as  he  does,  on  his  way  to  the 
waiting  Olympus? 

But,  after  all,  it  is  not  this  old  actor  of  Eliza- 
beth's time  who  exhibited  these  plays  at  his  thea- 
tre in  the  way  of  his  trade,  and  cared  for  them 
precisely  as  a  tradesman  would  ;  cared  for  them  as 
he  would  have  cared  for  tin  kettles,  or  earthen 
pans  and  pots,  if  they  had  been  in  his  line,  in- 
stead ;  it  is  not  this  old  tradesman ;  it  is  not  this 
old  showman  and  hawker  of  plays ;  it  is  not  this 
old  lackey,  whose  hand  is  on  all  our  heart-strings, 
whose  name  is,  of  mortal  names,  the  most  awe- 
inspiring. 


DELIA   BACON.  125 

The  Shakespeare  of  Elizabeth  and  James,  who 
exhibited  at  his  theatre  as  plays,  among  many  oth- 
ers surpassing  them  in  immediate  theatrical  success, 
the  wonderful  works  which  bore  his  name  —  works 
which  were  only  half  printed,  and  that  surrepti- 
tiously, and  in  detached  portions  during  his  life- 
time, which,  seven  years  after  his  death,  were  first 
collected  and  published  by  authority  in  his  name, 
accompanied,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  day, 
with  eulogistic  verses  from  surviving  brother  poets 
—  this  yet  living  theatrical  Shakespeare  is  a  very 
different  one  from  the  Shakespeare  of  our  mod- 
ern criticism  ;  —  the  Shakespeare  brought  out,  at 
length,  by  more  than  two  centuries  of  readings 
and  the  best  scholarly  investigation  of  modern 
times,  from  between  the  two  lids  of  that  wondrous 
folio. 

The  faintly  limned  outlines  of  the  nucleus  which 
that  name  once  included  are  all  gone  long  ago, 
dissolved  in  the  splendors,  dilated  into  the  infini- 
ties which  this  modern  Shakespeare  dwells  in.  It 
is  Shakespeare  the  author  that  we  now  know  only, 
the  author  of  these  worlds  of  profoundest  art, 
these  thought-crowded  worlds,  which  modern  read- 
ing discovers  in  these  printed  plays  of  his.  It  is 
the  posthumous  Shakespeare  of  the  posthumous 
volume  that  we  now  know  only.  No,  not  even 
that;  it  is  only  the  work  itself  that  we  now 
know  by  that  name  —  the  phenomenon  and  not 
its  beginning.     For,  with  each  new  study  of  the 


126  DELTA   BACON. 

printed  page,  further  and  further  behind  it,  deeper 
and  deeper  into  regions  where  no  man  so  much  as 
undertakes  to  follow  it,  retreats  the  power,  which 
is  for  us  all  already,  as  truly  as  if  we  had  confessed 
it  to  ourselves,  the  unknown,  the  unnamed. 

What  does  this  old  player's  name,  in  fact,  stand 
for  with  us  now  ?  Inwrought  not  into  all  our  lit- 
erature merely,  but  into  all  the  life  of  our  modern 
time,  his  unlearned  utterances  our  deepest  lore, 
which  "  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find,"  his 
mystic  page,  the  page  where  each  one  sees  his  own 
life  inscribed,  point  by  point,  deepening  and  deep- 
ening with  each  new  experience  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave  ;  what  is  he  to  us  now  ?  Is  he  the 
teacher  of  our  players  only  ?  AVhat  theatres  hold 
now  his  school  ?  What  actors'  names  stand  now 
enrolled  in  its  illustrious  lists?  Do  not  all  our 
modern  works  incorporate  his  lore  into  their  es- 
sence, are  they  not  glittering  on  their  surface 
everywhere,  with  ever  new,  unmissed  jewels  from 
his  mines  ?  Which  of  our  statesmen,  our  heroes, 
our  divines,  our  poets,  our  philosophers,  has  not 
learned  of  him ;  and  in  which  of  all  their  diver- 
gent and  multiplying  pursuits  and  experiences  do 
they  fail  to  find  him  still  with  them,  still  before 
them  ? 

The  name  which  has  stood  to  us  from  the  begin- 
ning, for  all  this — which  has  been  inwrought  into 
it,  which  concentrates  it  in  its  unity  —  cannot  now 
be  touched.     It  has  lost  its  original  significance. 


DELIA   BACON.  127 

It  means  this,  and  this  only  to  us.  It  has  drunk 
in  the  essence  of  all  this  power,  and  light,  and 
beauty,  and  identified  itself  with  it.  Never,  per- 
haps, can  it  well  mean  anything  else  to  us. 

You  cannot  christen  a  world  anew,  though  the 
name  that  was  given  to  it  at  the  font  prove  an 
usurper's.  With  all  that  we  now  know  of  that  he- 
roic scholar,  from  whose  scientific  dream  the  New 
World  was  made  to  emerge  at  last,  in  the  face  of 
the  mockeries  of  his  time,  with  all  that  apprecia- 
tion of  his  work  which  the  Old  World  and  the 
New  alike  bestow  upon  it,  we  cannot  yet  separate 
the  name  of  his  rival  from  his  hard-earned  tri- 
umph. What  name  is  it  that  has  drunk  into  its 
melody,  forever,  all  the  music  of  that  hope  and 
promise,  which  the  young  continent  of  Columbus 
still  whispers  —  in  spite  of  old  European  evils 
planted  there  —  still  whispers  in  the  troubled 
earth  ?  Whose  name  is  it  that  stretches  its  golden 
letters  now,  from  ocean  to  ocean,  from  Arctic  to 
Antarctic,  whose  name  now  enrings  the  millions 
that  are  born,  and  live,  and  die,  knowing  no  world 
but  the  world  of  that  patient  scholar's  dream  — 
no  reality  but  the  reality  of  his  chimera  ? 

What  matters  it  ?  Who  cares  ?  "  What 's  in  a 
name  ?  "  Is  there  any  voice  from  that  hero's  own 
tomb  to  rebuke  this  wrono;  ?  No.  He  did  not 
toil,  and  struggle,  and  suffer,  and  keep  his  manly 
heart  from  breaking,  to  the  end  that  those  mil- 
lions might  be  called  by  his  name.   Ah,  little  know 


128  DELTA  bacon: 

they,  who  thus  judge  of  works  like  his,  what  roots 
such  growths  must  spread,  what  broad,  sweet  cur- 
rents they  must  reach  and  drink  from.  If  the  mil- 
lions are  blessed  there,  if,  through  the  heat  and 
burden  of  his  weary  day,  man  shall  at  length  at- 
tain, though  only  after  many  an  erring  experience 
and  fierce  rebuke,  in  that  new  world,  to  some 
height  of  learning,  to  some  scientific  place  of  peace 
and  rest,  where  worlds  are  in  harmony,  and  men 
are  as  one,  he  will  say,  in  God's  name.  Amen  ! 
For,  on  the  heights  of  endurance  and  self-renun- 
ciation, where  the  divine  is  possible  with  men,  we 
have  one  name. 

What  have  we  to  do  with  this  poor  peasant's 
name,  then,  so  hallowed  in  all  our  hearts,  now, 
with  household  memories,  that  we  should  seek  to 
tear  it  from  the  countless  fastenings  which  time 
has  given  it  ?  This  name,  chosen  at  least  of  for- 
tune, if  not  of  nature,  for  the  place  it  occupies, 
dignified  with  all  that  she  can  lend  it,  —  illustrious 
with  her  most  lavish  favoritism,  —  has  she  not 
chosen  to  encircle  it  with  honors  which  make  poor 
those  that  she  saves  for  her  kings  and  heroes  ? 
Let  it  stand,  then,  and  not  by  grace  of  fortune 
only,  but  by  consent  of  one  who  could  afford  to 
leave  it  such  a  legacy.  For  he  was  one  whom  giv- 
ing did  not  impoverish  ;  he  had  wealth  enough  of 
his  own  and  to  spare,  and  honors  that  he  could  not 
part  with. 

"  Once,"  but  in  no  poet's  garb,  once,  through 


DELIA   BACON.  129 

the  thickest  of  this  "  working  -  clay  world,"  he 
trod  for  himself,  with  bleeding  feet,  "  the  ways 
of  glory"  here,  "  and  sounded  all  the  depths  and 
shoals  of  honor,"  and,  from  the  wrecks  of  lost 
'^  ambition,"  found  to  the  last  "  the  way  to  rise 
in  "  :  — 

"  By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;   bow  can  man,  then, 
The  image  of   his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by 't  ? 
Love  thyself  last :  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee  ; 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace. 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not : 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aini'st  at,  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's  ;   then,  if   thou  fall'st,  thou  fall'st 
A  blessed  martyr  !  " 

Let  the  name  stand,  then,  where  the  poet  has 
himself  left  it.  If  he  —  if  he  himself  did  not 
scruple  to  forego  his  fairest  honors,  and  leave  his 
immortality  in  a  peasant's  weed  ;  if  he  himself 
could  cansent  to  bind  his  own  princely  brows  in  it, 
though  it  might  be  for  ages,  why  e'en  let  him 
wear  it,  then,  as  his  own  proudest  honor.  To  all 
time  let  the  philosophy  be  preached  in  it,  which 
found  "  in  a  name  "  the  heroic  height  whence  its 
one  great  tenet  could  be  uttered  with  such  an  em- 
phasis, philosophy  —  "  not  harsh  and  crabbed  as 
dull  fools  suppose,  but  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute," 
roaming  here  at  last  in  worlds  of  her  own  shaping ; 
more  rich  and  varied,  and  more  intense  than  na- 
ture's own  ;  where  all  things  "  echo  the  name  of 
Prospero  "  ;  where,  "  beside  the  groves,  the  foun- 
tains,  every  region   near  seems   all   one   mutual 


130  DELIA    BACON. 

cry " ;  where  even  young  love's  own  youngest 
melodies,  from  moon-lit  balconies,  warble  its  argu- 
ment. Let  it  stand,  then.  Leave  to  it  its  strange 
honors  —  its  unbought  immortality.  Let  it  stand, 
at  least,  till  all  those  who  have  eaten  in  their  youth 
of  the  magic  tables  spread  in  it,  shall  have  died  in 
the  wilderness.  Let  it  stand  while  it  will,  only  let 
its  true  significance  be  recognized. 

For,  the  falsity  involved  in  it,  as  it  now  stands, 
has  become  too  gross  to  be  endured  any  further. 
The  common  sense  cannot  any  longer  receive  it 
without  self-abnegation  ;  and  the  relations  of  this 
question,  on  all  sides,  are  now  too  grave  and  mo- 
mentous to  admit  of  any  further  postponement 
of  it. 

In  judging  of  this  question,  we  must  take  into 
account  the  fact  that,  at  the  time  when  these 
works  were  issued,  all  those  characteristic  organi- 
zations of  the  modern  ages,  for  the  diffusion  of  in- 
tellectual and  moral  influences,  which  now  every- 
where cross  and  recross  with  electric  fibre  the 
hitherto  impassable  social  barriers,  were  as  yet 
unimagined.  The  inventions  and  institutions,  in 
which  these  had  their  origin,  were  then  but  begin- 
ning their  work.  To-day,  there  is  no  scholastic 
seclusion  so  profound  that  the  allied  voice  and  ac- 
tion of  this  mighty  living  age  may  not  perpetu- 
ally penetrate  it.  To-day,  the  work-shop  has  be- 
come clairvoyant.  The  plough  and  the  loom  are  in 
magnetic    communication  with  the  loftiest  social 


DELIA   BACON.  131 

centres.  The  last  results  of  the  most  exquisite 
culture  of  the  world,  in  all  its  departments,  are 
within  reach  of  the  lowest  haunt,  where  latent 
genius  and  refinement  await  their  summons ;  and 
there  is  no  "  smallest  scruple  of  nature's  excel- 
lence "  that  may  not  be  searched  out  and  kindled. 
The  Englishman  who  but  reads  "  The  Times," 
to-day,  puts  himself  into  a  connection  with  his 
age,  and  attains  thereby  a  means  of  enlargement 
of  character  and  elevation  of  thought  and  aims, 
which  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth  was  only  possible 
to  men  occupying  the  highest  official  and  social 
position. 

It  is  necessary,  too,  to  remember  that  the  ques- 
tion here  is  not  a  question  of  lyric  inspiration, 
merely ;  neither  is  it  a  question  of  dramatic  gen- 
ius, merely.  Why,  even  the  poor  player,  that 
Hamlet  quotes  so  admiringly,  ''  but  in  a  dream  of 
passion,"  his  soul  rapt  and  subdued  with  images  of 
tenderness  and  beauty,  "  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  color 
in  his  cheeks,"  even  he,  with  his  fine  sensibihties, 
his  rhythmical  ear,  with  his  living  conceits,  if  nature 
has  but  done  her  part  towards  it,  may  compose 
you  a  lyric  that  you  would  bind  up  with  "  High- 
land Mary,"  or  "  Sir  Patrick  Spens,"  for  immor- 
tality. And  even  this  poor  tinker,  profane  and 
wicked  as  he  is,  and  coarse  and  unfurnished  for 
the  poet's  mission  as  he  seems,  when  once  the  in- 
finities of  religion,  with  their  divine  ideals,  shall 
penetrate  to  the  deep,  sweet  sources  of  his  yet 


132  DELIA  bacon: 

undreamed  of  genius,  and  arouse  the  latent  soul 
in  him,  with  their  terrific  struggles  and  divine  tri- 
umphs, even  he,  from  the  coarse,  meagre  mate- 
rials which  his  external  experience  furnishes  to 
him,  shall  be  able  to  compose  a  drama,  full  of  im- 
mortal vigor  and  freshness,  where  all  men  shall 
hear  the  rushing  of  wings  —  the  tread  from  other 
spheres  —  in  their  life's  battle;  where  all  men 
shall  be  able  to  catch  voices  and  harpings  not  of 
this  shore.  But  the  question  is  not  here  of  a  Bun- 
yan  or  a  Burns.  And  it  is  not  a  Bloomfield  that 
we  have  in  hand  here.  The  question  is  not 
whether  nature  shall  be  able  to  compose  thesCf 
without  putting  into  requisition  the  selectest  in- 
strumentalities of  the  ages.  It  is  a  question  dif- 
ferent in  kind  ;  how  different,  in  the  present  stage 
of  our  appreciation  of  the  works  involved  in  it, 
cannot  be  made  manifest. 

It  is  impossible,  indeed,  to  present  any  parallel 
to  the  case  in  question.  For  if  we  suppose  a  poor 
actor,  or  the  manager  of  a  theatre,  or  a  printer, 
unlearned  except  by  the  accident  of  his  trade,  to 
begin  now  to  issue  out  of  his  brain,  in  the  way  of 
his  trade,  wholly  bent  on  that,  and  wholly  indif- 
ferent to  any  other  result,  and  unconscious  of  any 
other,  a  body  of  literature,  so  high  above  anything 
that  we  now  possess,  in  any  or  in  all  departments ; 
so  far  exhausting  the  excellency  of  all  as  to  con- 
stitute, by  universal  consent,  the  literature  of  this 
time ;  comprehending  its  entire  scope ;  based  on  its 


DELIA  BACON.  133 

subtlest  analysis ;  pronouncing  everywhere  its  final 
word,  —  even  such  a  supposition  would  not  begin 
to  meet  the  absurdity  of  the  case  in  question. 

If  the  prince  of  showmen  in  our  day,  in  that 
stately  oriental  retreat  of  his  in  Connecticut,  ri- 
valing even  the  New  Place  at  Stratford  in  literary 
conveniences,  should  begin  now  to  conceive  of 
something  of  this  sort,  as  his  crowning  specula- 
tion, and  should  determine  to  undertake  its  execu- 
tion in  person,  who  would  dare  to  question  his 
ability  ?  ^  Certainly  no  one  would  have  any  right 
to  criticise,  now,  the  motive  conceded,  or  to  put 
in  suspicion  its  efficiency  for  the  proposed  result. 
Why,  this  man  could  not  conduct  his  business  a 
day,  he  could  not  even  hunt  through  the  journals 
for  his  own  puffs  and  advertisements,  without  com- 
ing by  accident  in  contact  with  means  of  moral 
and  intellectual  enlargement  and  stimulus,  which 
could  never  have  found  their  way,  in  any  form,  to 
Elizabeth's  player.  The  railway,  the  magnetic 
telegraph,  the  steamship,  the  steam-press  with  its 
journals,  its  magazines,  its  reviews,  and  its  cheap 
literature  of  all  kinds,  the  public  library,  the  book- 
club, the  popular  lecture,  the  lyceum,  the  volun- 
tary association  of  every  kind  —  these  are  all  but 
a  part  of  that  magnificent  apparatus  and  means 
of  culture  which  society  is  now  putting  in  requisi- 

^  It  should  be  stated,  perhaps,  that  the  above  was  written  two  or 
three  years  since,  and  that  no  reference  to  Mr.  Barnum's  recent  ad- 
dition to  the  literature  of  the  ajre  was  intended. 


134  DELIA  BACON. 

tion  in  that  great  school  of  hers,  wherein  the  uni- 
versal man,  rescued  from  infinite  self -degradations, 
is  now  at  last  beginning  his  culture.  And  yet  all 
these  social  instrumentalities  combined  cannot, 
even  now,  so  supply  the  deficiencies  in  the  case 
supposed  as  to  make  the  supposition  any  other 
than  a  violent  one,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 

The  material  which  nature  must  have  contrib- 
uted to  the  Shakespearean  result  could,  indeed, 
hardly  have  remained  inert,  under  any  superin- 
cumbent w*eio;ht  of  social  disadvantao;es.  But  the 
very  first  indication  of  its  presence,  under  such 
conditions,  would  have  been  a  struggle  with  those 
disadvantages.  First  of  all,  it  would  force  its 
way  upward,  through  them,  to  its  natural  ele- 
ment ;  first  of  all,  it  would  make  its  way  into  the 
light,  and  possess  itself  of  all  its  weapons  —  not 
spend  itself  in  mad  movements  in  the  dark,  with- 
out them.  Look  over  the  history  of  all  the  known 
English  poets  and  authors  of  every  kind,  back 
even  to  the  days  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Adhelm,  and 
Caedmon,  and,  no  matter  how  humble  the  position 
in  which  they  are  born,  how  many  will  you  find 
among  them  that  have  failed  to  possess  themselves 
ultimately  of  the  highest  literary  culture  of  the 
age  they  lived  in  ?  How  many,  until  you  come  to 
this  same  Shakespeare  ? 

Well,  then,  if  the  Genius  of  the  British  Isle  turns 
us  out  such  men  as  those  from  her  universities ; 
but  when  she  would  make  her  Shakespeare  retreat 


DELIA   BACON.  135 

into  a  green-room,  and  send  him  forth  from  that, 
furnished  as  we  find  him,  pull  down,  we  say,  pull 
down  those  gray  old  towers,  for  the  wisdom  of  the 
Great  Alfred  has  been  laughed  to  scorn  ;  undo  his 
illustrious  monument  to  its  last  Anglo-Saxon  stone, 
and,  "  by  our  lady,  build  —  theatres  ! "  If  not  Ju- 
liet only,  but  her  author,  and  Hamlet's  author, 
too,  and  Lear's,  and  Macbeth's  can  be  made  with- 
out "  philosophy,"  we  are  for  Romeo's  verdict, 
"  Hang  up  philosophy."  If  such  works  as  these, 
and  Julius  CaBsar,  and  Coriolanus,  and  Antony, 
and  Henry  V,  and  Henry  VIII,  —  if  the  "  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  and  the  ''  Merchant  of 
Venice,"  and  the  "Twelfth  Night,"  — if  Beatrice, 
and  Benedict,  and  Rosalind,  and  Jaques,  and  lago, 
and  Othello,  and  all  their  immortal  company,  —  if 
these  works,  and  all  that  we  find  in  them,  can 
be  got  out  of  "  Plutarch's  Lives,"  and  "  Holin- 
shed,"  and  a  few  old  ballads  and  novels,  —  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  honest,  give  us  these,  and 
let  us  go  about  our  business;  and  henceforth 
let  him  that  can  be  convicted  ''  of  traitorously  cor- 
rupting the  youth  of  this  realm,  by  erecting  a 
grammar-school,"  be  consigned  to  his  victims  for 
mercy.  "  Long  live  Lord  Mortimer  !  "  "  Down 
with  the  paper-mills !  "  "  Throw  learning  to  the 
dogs  !  we  '11  none  of  it !  " 

But  we  are  not,  as  yet,  in  a  position  to  estimate 
the  graver  bearings  of  this  question.  For  the 
reverence  which  the  common  theory  has  hitherto 


136  DELIA   BACON. 

claimed  from  us,  as  a  well  authenticated  historical 
fact,  depending  apparently,  indeed,  on  the  most  un- 
impeachable external  evidence  for  its  support,  has 
operated,  as  it  was  intended  to  operate  in  the  first 
instance,  to  prevent  all  that  kind  of  reading  and 
study  of  the  plays  which  would  have  made  its 
gross  absurdity  apparent.  In  accordance  with  this 
original  intention,  to  this  hour  it  has  constituted  a 
barrier  to  the  understanding  of  their  true  mean- 
ing, which  no  industry  or  perseverance  could  sur- 
mount ;  to  this  hour  it  has  served  to  prevent,  ap- 
parently, so  much  as  a  suspicion  of  their  true 
source,  and  ultimate  intention. 

But  let  this  theory,  and  the  pre-judgment  it 
involves,  be  set  aside,  even  by  an  hypothesis, 
only  long  enough  to  permit  us  once  to  see,  for 
ourselves,  what  these  works  do  in  fact  contain, 
and  no  amount  of  historical  evidence  which  can 
be  produced,  no  art,  no  argument,  will  suffice  to 
restore  it  to  its  present  position.  But  it  is  not  as 
an  hypothesis,  it  is  not  as  a  theory,  that  the  truth 
here  indicated  will  be  developed  hereafter.  It 
will  come  on  other  grounds.    It  will  ask  no  favors. 

Condemned  to  refer  the  orio-in  of  these  works 
to  the  vulgar,  illiterate  man  who  kept  the  theatre 
where  they  were  first  exhibited,  a  person  of  the 
most  ordinary  character  and  aims,  compelled  to 
regard  them  as  the  result  merely  of  an  extraordi- 
nary talent  for  pecuniary  speculation  in  this  man, 
how  could  we,  how  could  any  one,  dare  to  see  what 


DELIA   BACON.  137 

is  really  in  them  ?  With  this  theory  overhanging 
them,  though  we  threw  our  most  artistic  lights 
upon  it,  and  kept  it  out  of  sight  when  we  could, 
what  painful  contradictory  mental  states,  what  un- 
acknowledged internal  misgivings  were  yet  in- 
volved in  our  best  judgments  of  them?  How  many 
passages  were  we  compelled  to  read  "  tripphigly," 
with  the  "  mind's  eye,"  as  the  players  were  first 
taught  to  pronounce  them  on  the  tongue  ;  and  if, 
in  spite  of  all  our  slurring,  the  inner  depths  would 
open  to  us,  if  anything  which  this  theory  could 
not  account  for,  would  notwithstanding  obtrude 
itself  upon  us,  we  endeavored  to  believe  that  it 
must  be  the  reflection  of  our  own  better  learning, 
and  so,  half  lying  to  ourselves,  making  a  wretched 
compromise  with  our  own  mental  integrity,  we 
still  hurried  on. 

Condemned  to  look  for  the  author  of  Hamlet 
himself  —  the  subtle  Hamlet  of  the  university,  the 
courtly  Hamlet,  "  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the 
mould  of  form  "  —  in  that  dirty,  doggish  group  of 
players,  who  come  into  the  scene  summoned  like  a 
pack  of  hounds  to  his  service,  the  very  tone  of  his 
courtesy  to  them,  with  its  princely  condescension, 
with  its  arduous  familiarity,  only  serving  to  make 
the  great,  impassable  social  gulf  between  them  the 
more  evident,  —  compelled  to  look  in  that  igno- 
minious group,  with  its  faithful  portraiture  of  the 
players  of  that  time  (taken  from  the  life  by  one 
who  had  had  dealings  with  them),  for  the  princely 


138  DELIA   BACON. 

scholar  himself  in  his  author,  how  could  we  under- 
stand him  —  the  enigmatical  Hamlet,  with  the 
thought  of  ages  in  his  foregone  conclusions  ? 

With  such  an  origin,  how  could  we  see  the  sub- 
tlest skill  of  the  university,  not  in  Hamlet  and  Ho- 
ratio only,  but  in  the  work  itself,  incorporated  in 
its  essence,  pervading  its  execution  ?  With  such 
an  origin  as  this,  how  was  it  possible  to  note,  not 
in  this  play  only,  but  in  all  the  Shakespeare  drama, 
what  otherwise  we  could  not  have  failed  to  ob- 
serve, the  tone  of  the  highest  Elizabethan  breed- 
ing, the  very  loftiest  tone  of  that  peculiar  courtly 
culture,  which  was  then,  and  but  just  then,  attain- 
ing its  height,  in  the  competitions  among  men  of 
the  highest  social  rank,  and  among  the  most  bril- 
liant wits  and  men  of  genius  of  the  age,  for  the 
favor  of  the  learned,  accomplished,  sagacious,  wit- 
loving  maiden  queen  ;  —  a  culture  which  required 
not  the  best  acquisitions  of  the  university  merely, 
but  acquaintance  with  life,  practical  knowledge  of 
affairs,  foreign  travel  and  accomplishments,  and, 
above  all,  the  last  refinements  of  the  highest  Pa- 
risian breeding.  For  "  your  courtier  "  must  be,  in 
fact,  "  your  picked  man  of  countries."  He  must, 
indeed,  "  get  his  behavior  everywhere."  He  must 
be,  in  fact  and  literally,  the  man  of  "  the  world." 

But  for  this  prepossession,  in  that  daring  treat- 
ment of  court-life  which  this  single  play  of  Ham- 
let involves,  in  the  entire  freedom  with  which  its 
conventionalities  are  handled,  how  could  we  have 


DELIA   BACON.  139 

failed  to  recognize  the  touch  of  one  habitually 
practiced  in  its  refinements  ?  How  could  we  have 
failed  to  recognize,  not  in  this  play  only,  but  in  all 
these  plays,  the  poet  whose  habits  and  perceptions 
have  been  moulded  in  the  atmosphere  of  these 
subtle  social  influences  ?  He  cannot  shake  off  this 
influence  when  he- will.  He  carries  the  court  per- 
fume with  him,  unconsciously,  wherever  he  goes, 
among  mobs  of  artisans  that  will  not  "  keep  their 
teeth  clean"  ;  into  the  ranks  of  "  greasy  citizens" 
and  "  rude  mechanicals  "  ;  into  country  feasts  and 
merry-makings ;  among  "  pretty  low-born  lasses," 
''^  the  queens  of  curds  and  cheese,"  and  into  the 
heart  of  that  forest,  "  where  there  is  no  clock." 
He  looks  into  Arden  and  into  Eastcheap  from  the 
court  standpoint,  not  from  these  into  the  court, 
and  he  is  as  much  a  prince  with  Poins  and  Bar- 
dolph  as  he  is  when  he  enters  and  throws  open  to 
us,  without  awe,  without  consciousness,  the  most 
delicate  mysteries  of  the  royal  presence. 

Compelled  to  refer  the  origin  of  these  works  to 
the  sordid  play-house,  who  could  teach  us  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  ranting,  unnatural  stuff  and 
bombast  which  its  genuine  competitions  elicited, 
in  their  mercenary  appeals  to  the  passions  of  their 
audience,  ministering  to  the  most  vicious  tastes, 
depraving  the  public  conscience,  and  lowering  the 
common  standard  of  decency,  getting  up  "  scenes 
to  tear  a  cat  in,"  —  "  out-Herod ing  Herod,"  and 
going  regularly  into  professional  fits  about  Hecuba 


140  DELIA  BACON. 

and  Priam  and  other  Trojans,  —  who  could  teach 
us  to  distinguish  between  the  tone  of  this  origi- 
nal, genuine,  play-house  fustian,  and  that  of  the 
"dozen  or  sixteen  lines"  which  Hamlet  will  at 
first,  for  some  earnest  purpose  of  his  own,  with 
the  consent  and  privity  of  one  of  the  players, 
cause  to  be  inserted  in  it  ?  Nay,  thus  blinded,  we 
shall  not,  perhaps,  be  able  to  distinguish  from  this 
foundation  that  magnificent  whole  with  which, 
from  such  beginnings,  this  author  will,  perhaps, 
ultimately  replace  his  worthless  originals  alto- 
gether ;  that  whole  in  which  we  shall  see,  one  day, 
not  the  burning  Ilium,  not  the  old  Danish  court 
of  the  tenth  century,  but  the  yet  living,  illustrious 
Elizabethan  age,  with  all  its  momentous  interests 
still  at  stake,  with  its  yet  palpitating  hopes  and 
fears,  with  its  newborn  energies,  bound  but  uncon- 
querable, already  heaving,  and  muttering  through 
all  their  undertone  ;  that  magnificent  Avhole,  where 
we  shall  see,  one  day,  "  the  very  abstract  and  brief 
chronicle  of  the  time,"  the  "  very  body  of  the  age, 
its  form  and  pressure,"  under  any  costume  of  time 
and  country,  or  under  the  drapery  of  any  fiction, 
however  absurd  or  monstrous,  which  this  author 
shall  find  already  popularized  to  his  hands,  and 
available  for  his  purposes.  Hard,  indeed,  was  the 
time,  ill  bestead  was  the  spirit  of  the  immemorial 
English  freedom,  when  the  genius  of  works  such 
as  these  was  compelled  to  stoop  to  such  a  scene 
to  find  its  instruments. 


DELIA   BACON.  141 

How  could  we  understand  from  such  a  source, 
while  that  wretched  player  was  still  crying  it  for 
his  own  worthless  ends,  this  majestic  exhibition  of 
our  common  human  life  from  the  highest  intellec- 
tual and  social  standpoint  of  that  wondrous  age, 
letting  in,  on  all  the  fripperies  and  affectations, 
the  arrogance  and  pretension  of  that  illustrious 
centre  of  social  life,  the  new  philosophic  beam, 
and  sealing  up  in  it,  for  all  time,  "  all  the  uses 
and  customs"  of  the  world  that  then  was?  Ar- 
rested with  that  transparent  petrifaction,  in  all  the 
rushing  life  of  the  moment,  and  set,  henceforth, 
on  the  table  of  philosophic  halls  for  scientific  il- 
lustration ;  its  gaudy  butterflies  impaled  upon  the 
wing,  in  their  perpetual  gold ;  its  microscopic  in- 
sects, "  spacious  in  the  possession  of  land  and  dirt," 
transfixed  in  all  the  swell  and  flutter  of  the  mo- 
ment ;  its  fantastic  apes,  unrobed  for  inextinguish- 
able mortal  laughter  and  celestial  tears,  still  play- 
ing, all  unconsciously,  their  solemn  pageants 
through ;  how  could  the  showman  explain  all  this  to 
us  —  how  could  the  player  tell  us  what  it  meant? 

How  could  the  player's  mercenary  motive  and 
the  player's  range  of  learning  and  experiment  give 
us  the  key  to  this  new  application  of  the  human 
reason  to  the  human  life,  from  the  new  vantage- 
ground  of  thought,  but  just  then  rescued  from  the 
past,  and  built  up  painfully  from  all  its  wreck  ? 
How  could  we  understand,  from  such  a  source, 
this  new,  and  strange,  and  persevering  application 


142  DELIA   BACON. 

of  thought  to  life,  not  merely  to  society  and  to 
her  laws,  but  to  nature,  too ;  pursuing  her  to  her 
last  retreats,  and  holding  everywhere  its  mirror 
up  to  her,  reflecting  the  whole  boundary  of  her 
limitations ;  laying  bare,  in  its  cold,  clear,  pure 
depths,  in  all  their  unpolite,  undraped  scientific 
reality,  the  actualities  which  society,  as  it  is,  can 
only  veil,  and  the  evils  which  society,  as  it  is,  can 
only  hide  and  palliate  ? 

In  vain  the  shrieking  queen  remonstrates,  for  it 
is  the  impersonated  reason  whose  clutch  is  on  her, 
and  it  says,  you  go  not  hence  till  you  have  seen 
the  inmost  part  of  you.  But  does  all  this  tell  on 
the  thousand  pounds  ?  Is  the  ghost's  word  good 
for  that  ? 

No  wonder  that  Hamlet  refused  to  speak,  or  to 
be  commanded  to  any  utterance  of  harmony,  let 
the  critics  listen  and  entreat  as  they  would,  while 
this  illiterate  performer,  who  knew  no  touch  of 
all  that  divine  music  of  his,  from  its  lowest  note 
to  the  top  of  his  key,  was  still  sounding  him  and 
fretting  him.  We  shall  take  another  key  and 
another  interpreter  with  us  when  we  begin  to  un- 
derstand a  work  which  comprehends  in  its  design 
all  our  human  aims  and  activities,  and  tracks  them 
to  their  beginnings  and  ends  ;  which  demands  the 
ultimate,  scientific  perpetual  reason  in  all  our  life 
—  a  work  which  dares  to  defer  the  punishment  of 
the  crime  that  society  visits  with  her  most  dreaded 
penalties,  till  all  the  principles  of  the  human  ac- 


DELIA   BACON.  143 

tivity  have  been  collected ;  till  all  the  human  con- 
ditions have  been  explored ;  till  the  only  universal 
rational  human  principle  is  found  —  a  work  which 
dares  to  defer  the  punishment  of  the  crime  that 
society  condemns,  till  its  principle  has  been  tracked 
through  the  crime  which  she  tolerates ;  through 
the  crime  which  she  sanctions ;  through  the  crime 
which  she  crowns  with  all  her  honors. 

We  are.  indeed,  by  no  means  insensible  to  the 
difference  betw^een  this  Shakespeare  drama,  and 
that  on  which  it  is  based,  and  that  which  surrounds 
it.  We  do,  indeed,  already  pronounce  that  differ- 
ence, and  not  faintly,  in  our  word  Shalces'peare  ;  for 
that  is  wdiat  the  word  now  means  with  us,  though 
we  received  it  with  no  such  significance.  Its  his- 
torical development  is  but  the  next  step  in  our 
progress. 

Yes,  there  were  men  in  England  then,  who  had 
heard  somewhat  of  those  masters  of  the  olden 
time,  hight  ^schylus  and  Sophocles  —  men  who 
had  heard  of  Euripides  too,  and  next,  Aristopha- 
nes —  men  who  had  heard  of  Terence,  and  not  of 
Terence  only,  but  of  his  patrons  —  men  who  had 
heard  of  Plato,  too,  and  of  his  master.  There 
were  men  in  England,  in  those  days,  who  knew 
well  enough  what  kind  of  an  instrumentality  the 
drama  had  been  in  its  original  institution,  and  with 
what  voices  it  had  then  spoken ;  who  knew,  also, 
its  permanent  relations  to  the  popular  mind,  and 
its  capability  for  adaptation  to  new  social  exigen- 


144  DELIA   BACON. 

cies;  men,  quick  enough  to  perceive,  and  ready 
enough  to  appreciate  to  the  utmost,  the  facihties 
which  this  great  organ  of  the  wisdom  of  antiquity- 
offered  for  effectual  communication  between  the 
loftiest  mind,  at  the  height  of  its  culture,  and  that 
mind  of  the  world  in  which  this,  impelled  by  no 
law  of  its  own  ordaining,  seeks  ever  its  own  self- 
completion  and  perpetuity. 

And  where  had  this  mighty  instrument  of  popu- 
lar sway,  this  mechanism  for  moving  and  mould- 
ing the  multitude,  its  first  origin,  but  among  men 
initiated  in  the  profoundest  religious  and  philo- 
sophic mysteries  of  their  time,  among  men  exer- 
cised in  the  control  and  administration  of  public 
affairs ;  men  clothed  even  with  imperial  sway,  the 
joint  administrators  of  the  government  of  Athens, 
when  Athens  sat  on  the  summit  of  her  power,  the 
crowned  mistress  of  the  seas,  the  imperial  ruler  of 
"  a  thousand  cities." 

Yes,  Theseus,  and  Solon,  and  Cleisthenes,  and 
Pythagoras,  must  be  its  antecedents  there  ;  it 
could  not  be  produced  there,  till  all  Athena  had 
been  for  ages  in  Athens,  till  Athena  had  been  for 
ages  in  all :  till  three  centuries  of  Olympiads  had 
poured  the  Grecian  life-blood  through  it,  from  By- 
zantium to  Sicily ;  it  could  not  be  produced  there, 
till  the  life  of  the  state  was  in  each  true  Athenian 
nerve,  till  each  true  Athenian's  nerve  was  in  the 
growing  state ;  it  could  not  begin  to  be  produced 
there,  till  new  religious  inspirations  from  the  east 


DELIA    BACON.  145 

had  reached,  with  their  foreign  stimulus,  the 
deeper  sources  of  the  national  life,  till  the  secret 
philosophic  tenet  of  the  inner  temple  had  over- 
flowed, with  new  gold,  the  ancient  myth,  and  kin- 
dled with  new  fires  the  hearts  of  the  nation's 
leaders.  The  gay  summits  of  Homer's  ^'  ever- 
young"  Olympus  must  be  reached  and  overlaid 
anew  from  the  earth's  central  mysteries ;  the  Dio- 
nysian  procession  must  enter  the  temple  ;  the  road 
to  it  must  cross  ^galeos ;  the  Pnyx  must  empty 
its  benches  into  it ;  Piraeus  must  crowd  its  stran- 
gers' seat  with  her  many  costumes,  before  ^schy- 
lus  or  Sophocles  could  find  an  audience  to  com- 
mand all  their  genius.  Nay,  Zeno  and  Anaxago- 
ras  must  send  their  pupils  thither,  and  Socrates 
must  come  in,  and  the  most  illustrious  scholars  of 
the  Olympian  cities,  from  Abdera  to  Leontium, 
must  be  found  there,  before  all  the  latent  re- 
sources of  the  Grecian  drama  could  be  unfolded. 

And  there  were  men  in  England,  in  the  age  of 
Elizabeth,  who  had  mastered  the  Greek  and  Ro- 
man history,  and  not  only  that,  but  the  history  of 
their  own  institutions  —  men  who  knew  precisely 
what  kind  of  crisis  in  human  history  that  was 
which  they  were  born  to  occupy.  And  they  had 
seen  the  indigenous  English  drama  struggling  up, 
through  the  earnest,  but  childish,  exhibitions  of 
the  cathedral  —  through  "  Miracles,"  and  "Mys- 
teries," and  "  Moralities,"  to  be  arrested,  in  its  yet 
undeveloped  vigor,  with  the  unfit  and  unyielding 


146  DELIA   BACON. 

forms  of  the  finished  Grecian  art ;  and  when,  too, 
by  the  combined  effect  of  institutions  otherwise  at 
variance,  all  that  had,  till  then,  made  its  life,  was 
suddenly  abstracted  from  it.  The  royal  ordinances 
which  excluded  it,  henceforth,  from  all  that  vital 
range  of  topics  which  the  censorship  of  a  capricious 
and  timorous  despotism  might  include  among  the 
interdicted  questions  of  church  and  state,  found  it 
already  expelled  from  the  religious  sanctuaries  — 
in  which  not  the  drama  only,  but  all  that  which 
we  call  art,  par  excellence,  has  its  birth  and  nur- 
ture. And  that  was  the  crisis  in  which  the  pul- 
pit began  to  open  its  new  drain  upon  it,  having 
only  a  vicious  play-house,  where  once  the  indefi- 
nite priestly  authority  had  summoned  all  the  soul 
to  its  spectacles,  and  the  long-drawn  aisle,  and 
fretted  vault,  had  lent  to  them  their  sheltering 
sanctities;  where  once,  as  of  old,  the  Athenian 
temple  had  pressed  its  scene  into  the  heart  of  the 
Athenian  hill  —  the  holy  hill  —  and  opened  its 
subterranean  communication  with  Eleusis,  while  its 
centre  was  the  altar  on  which  the  gods  themselves 
threw  incense. 

And  yet,  there  was  a  moment  in  the  history  of 
the  national  genius,  when,  roused  to  its  utmost  — 
stimulated  to  its  best  capability  of  ingenuity  and 
invention  —  it  found  itself  constrained  to  stoop  at 
its  height,  even  to  the  threshold  of  this  same  de- 
graded play-house.  There  were  men  in  England, 
who  knew  what  latent  capacities  that  debased  in- 


DELIA   BACON.  147 

strument  of  genius  yet  contained  within  it  —  who 
knew  that  in  the  master's  hand  it  might  yet  be 
made  to  yield,  even  then,  and  under  those  condi- 
tions, better  music  than  any  which  those  old  Greek 
sons  of  song  had  known  how  to  wake  in  it. 

These  men  knew  well  enough  the  proper  rela- 
tion between  the  essence  of  the  drama  and  its 
form.  "  Considering  poetry  in  respect  to  the  verse, 
and  not  to  the  argument,"  says  one,  "  though  men 
in  learned  languages  may  tie  themselves  to  ancient 
measures ;  yet,  in  modern  languages,  it  seems  to 
me  as  free  to  make  new  measures  as  to  make  new 
dances;  and,  in  these  things,  the  sense  is  a  better 
judge  than  the  art."  Surely,  a  Schlegel  himself 
could  not  give  us  a  truer  Shakespearean  rule  than 
that.  Indeed,  if  we  can  but  catch  them  when  the 
wind  is  south-southwest  —  these  grave  and  oracu- 
lar Elizabethan  wits  —  we  shall  find  them  putting 
two  and  two  together,  now  and  then,  and  drawing 
inferences,  and  making  distinctions  which  would 
have  much  surprised  their  "  uncle-fathers "  and 
"  aunt-mothers  "  at  the  time,  if  they  had  but  noted 
them.  But,  as  they  themselves  tell  us,  "  in  regard 
to  the  rawness  and  unskillfulness  of  the  hands 
through  which  they  pass,  the  greatest  matters  are 
sometimes  carried  in  the  weakest  ciphers."  Even 
over  their  own  names,  and  in  those  learned  tonsrues 
of  theirs,  if  we  can  but  once  find  their  stops, 
and  the  skill  to  command  them  to  any  utterance 
of  harmony,  they  will  discourse  to  us,  in  spite  of 
the  disjointed  times,  the  most  eloquent  music. 


148  DELIA   BACON. 

For,  although  they  had,  indeed,  the  happiness 
to  pursue  their  studies  under  the  direct  personal 
supervision  of  those  two  matchless  scholars,  "  Eliza 
and  our  James,"  whose  influence  in  the  world  of 
letters  was  then  so  signally  felt,  they,  neverthe- 
less, evidently  ventured  to  dip  into  antiquity  a 
little  on  their  own  account,  and  that,  apparently, 
without  feeling  called  upon  to  render  in  a  per- 
fectly unambiguous  report  in  full  of  all  that  they 
found  there,  for  the  benefit  of  their  illustrious  pa- 
trons, to  whom,  of  course,  their  literary  labors  are 
dedicated.  There  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  no  occa- 
sion for  unpegging  the  basket  on  the  house's  top, 
and  trying  conclusions  in  any  so  summary  man- 
ner. 

These  men  distinctly  postpone,  not  their  per- 
sonal reputation  only,  but  the  interpretation  of 
their  avowed  works,  to  freer  ages.  There  were 
sparrows  abroad  then.  The  tempest  was  already 
"  singing  in  the  wind,"  for  an  ear  fine  enough  to 
catch  it ;  but  only  invisible  Ariels  could  dare  "  to 
play"  then  ^^  on  pipe  and  tabor"  (stage  direction). 
*'  Thought  is  free,"  but  only  base  Trinculos  and 
low-born  Stephanos  could  dare  to  whisper  to  it. 
"  That  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  the  pic- 
ture of  —  Nobody." 

Yes,  there  was  one  moment  in  that  nation's  his- 
tory, wherein  the  costume,  the  fable,  the  scenic  ef- 
fect, and  all  the  attractive  and  diverting  appliances 
and  concomitants  of  the  stage,  even  the  degrada- 


DELIA   BACON.  149 

tion  into  which  it  had  fallen,  its  known  subser- 
viency to  the  passions  of  the  audience,  its  habit  of 
creating  a  spectacle  merely,  all  combined  to  fur- 
nish to  men,  in  whom  the  genius  of  the  nation  had 
attained  its  highest  form,  freer  instrumentalities 
than  the  book,  the  pamphlet,  the  public  document, 
the  parliament,  or  the  pulpit,  when  all  alike  were 
subject  to  an  oppressive  and  despotic  censorship, 
when  all  alike  were  forbidden  to  meddle  with  their 
own  proper  questions,  when  cruel  maimings  and 
tortures  old  and  new,  life-long  imprisonment,  and 
death  itself,  awaited,  not  a  violation  of  these  re- 
strictions merely,  but  a  suspicion  of  an  intention, 
or  even  wish,  to  violate  them  —  penalties  which 
England's  noblest  men  suffered,  on  suspicion  only. 
There  was  one  moment  in  that  history,  in  which 
the  ancient  drama  had,  in  new  forms,  its  old 
power ;  when,  stamped  and  blazoned  on  its  surface 
everywhere  with  the  badges  of  servitude,  it  had 
yet  leaping  within  the  indomitable  heart  of  its  an- 
cient freedom,  the  spirit  of  the  immemorial  Euro- 
pean liberties,  which  Magna  Charta  had  only  rec- 
ognized, and  more  than  that,  the  freedom  of  the 
new  ages  that  were  then  beginning,  "  the  freedom 
of  the  chainless  mind."  There  was  one  moment 
in  which  all  the  elements  of  the  national  genius, 
that  are  now  separated  and  incorporated  in  insti- 
tutions as  wide  apart,  at  least,  as  earth  and  heaven, 
were  held  together,  and  that  in  their  first  vigor, 
pressed  from  without  into  their  old  Greek  conjunc- 


150  DELIA  BACON. 

tion.  That  moment  there  was;  it  is  chronicled; 
we  have  one  word  for  it;  we  call  it — Shakespeare! 

Has  the  time  come  at  last,  or  has  it  not  yet 
come,  in  which  this  message  of  the  new  time  can 
be  laid  open  to  us  ?  This  message  from  the  lips  of 
one  endowed  so  wondrously,  with  skill  to  utter  it ; 
endowed,  not  with  the  sj^eaker's  melodious  tones 
and  subduing  harmonies  only,  but  with  the  teach- 
er s  divinely  glowing  heart,  with  the  ambition  that 
seeks  its  own  in  all,  with  the  love  that  is  sweeter 
than  the  tongues  of  men  and  angels.  Are  we,  or 
are  we  not,  his  legatees  ?  Surely  this  new  sum- 
ming up  of  all  the  real  questions  of  our  common 
life,  from  such  an  elevation  in  it,  this  new  philoso- 
phy of  all  men's  business  and  desires,  cannot  be 
without  its  perpetual  vital  uses.  For,  in  all  the 
points  on  which  the  demonstration  rests,  these  dia- 
grams from  the  dissolving  views  of  the  past  are 
still  included  in  the  problems  of  the  present. 

And  if,  in  this  new  and  more  earnest  research 
into  the  true  ends  and  meanings  of  this  greatest 
of  our  teachers,  the  poor  player  who  was  willing 
enough  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  these  works, 
while  they  were  still  plays  —  theatrical  exhibitions 
only,  and  quite  in  his  line  for  the  time  ;  who  might, 
indeed,  be  glad  enough  to  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the 
princely  patronage  that  henceforth  encompassed  his 
fortunes,  even  to  the  granting  of  a  thousand  pounds 
at  a  time,  if  that  were  needed  to  complete  his 
purchase  —  if  this  good  man,  sufficiently  perplexed 


DELIA   BACON.  151 

already  with  the  developments  which  the  modern 
criticism  has  by  degrees  already  laid  at  his  door, 
does  here  positively  refuse  to  go  any  further  with 
us  on  this  road,  why  e'en  let  us  shake  hands  with 
him  and  part,  he  as  his  business  and  desire  shall 
point  him ;  "  for  every  man  hath  business  and  desire 
such  as  it  is,"  and  not  without  a  grateful  recollec- 
tion of  the  good  service  he  has  rendered  us. 

The  publisher  of  these  plays  let  his  name  go 
down  still  and  to  all  posterity  on  the  cover  of  it. 
They  were  his  plays.  He  brought  them  out  —  he 
and  his  firm.  They  took  tlie  scholar's  text,  that 
dull  black  and  white,  that  mere  ink  and  paper,  and 
made  of  it  a  living,  speaking,  many-colored,  glit- 
tering reality,  which  even  the  groundlings  of  that 
time  could  appreciate,  in  some  sort.  What  was 
Hamlet  to  them,  without  his  "  inky  cloak  "  and  his 
"  forest  of  feathers "  and  his  "  razed  shoes "  and 
"  the  roses"  on  them  ?  And  they  came  out  of  this 
man's  bag  —  he  was  the  owner  of  the  "  wardrobe  " 
and  of  the  other  "stage  properties."  He  was  the 
owner  of  the  manuscripts ;  and  if  he  came  hon- 
estly by  them,  whose  business  was  it  to  inquire 
any  further,  then  ?  If  there  was  no  one  who  chose, 
just  then,  to  claim  the  authorship  of  them,  whose 
else  should  they  be  ?  Was  not  the  actor  himself 
a  poet,  and  a  very  facetious  one,  too  ?  Witness 
the  remains  of  him,  the  incontestable  poetical  re- 
mains of  him,  which  have  come  down  to  us.  What 
if  his  ill-natured  contemporaries,  whose  poetic  glo- 


152  DELIA   BACON. 

ries  he  was  eclipsing  forever  with  those  new  plays 
of  his,  did  assail  him  on  his  weak  points,  and  call 
him,  in  the  face  of  his  time,  '^  a  Johannes  Facto- 
tum,''' and  held  up  to  public  ridicule  his  particular 
style  of  acting,  plainly  intimating  that  it  was 
chargeable  with  that  very  fault  which  the  prince 
of  Denmark  directs  his  tragedians  to  omit  —  did 
not  the  blundering  editor  of  that  piece  of  offen- 
sive criticism  get  a  decisive  hint  from  some  quar- 
ter, that  he  might  better  have  withheld  it ;  and 
was  it  not  humbly  retracted  and  hushed  up  di- 
rectly ?  Some  of  the  earlier  anonymous  plays, 
which  were  included  in  the  collection  published, 
after  this  player's  decease,  as  the  plays  of  William 
Shakespeare,  are,  indeed,  known  to  have  been  pro- 
duced anonymously  at  other  theatres,  and  by  com- 
panies with  which  this  actor  had  never  any  con- 
nection ;  but  the  poet's  company  and  the  player's 
were,  as  it  seems,  two  different  things ;  and  that  is 
a  fact  which  the  criticism  and  history  of  these 
plays,  as  it  stands  at  present,  already  exhibits. 
Several  of  the  plays  which  form  the  nucleus  of  the 
Shakespeare  drama  had  already  been  brought  out, 
before  the  Stratford  actor  was  yet  in  a  position  to 
assume  that  relation  to  it  which  proved  so  advan- 
tageous to  his  fortunes.  Such  a  nucleus  of  the 
Shakespeare  drama  there  was  already,  when  the 
name  which  this  actor  bore,  with  such  orthograph- 
ical variations  as  the  purpose  required,  began  to 
be  assumed  as  the  name  and  device  of  that  new 


DELIA   BACON.  153 

sovereignty  of  genius  which  was  then  first  rising 
and  kindhng  behind  its  cloud,  and  dimming  and 
overflowing  with  its  greater  glory  all  the  less,  and 
gilding  all  it  shone  on.  The  machinery  of  these 
theatrical  establishments  offered,  indeed,  the  most 
natural  and  e:ffective,  as  well  as,  at  that  time,  on 
other  accounts,  the  most  convenient  mode  of  exhi- 
bition for  that  particular  class  of  subjects  which 
the  genius  of  this  particular  poet  naturally  inclined 
him  to  meddle  with.  He  had  the  most  profoundly 
philosophical  reasons  for  preferring  that  mode  of 
exhibiting  his  poems,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter. 

And,  when  we  have  once  learned  to  recognize 
the  actor's  true  relations  to  the  works  which  have 
given  to  his  name  its  anomalous  significance,  we 
shall  be  prepared,  perhaps,  to  accept,  at  last,  this 
great  offer  of  aid  in  our  readings  of  these  works, 
which  has  been  lying  here  now  two  hundred  and 
thirty  years,  unnoticed ;  then,  and  not  till  then, 
we  shall  be  able  to  avail  ourselves,  at  last,  of  the 
aid  of  those  "  friends  of  his,"  to  whom,  two  hun- 
dred and  thirty  years  ago,  "  knowing  that  his  wit 
could  no  more  lie  hid  than  it  could  be  lost,"  the 
editors  of  the  first  printed  collection  of  these  w^orks 
venture  to  refer  us ;  "  those  other  friends  of  his, 
whom  if  we  need,  can  be  our  guides  ;  and,  if  we 
need  them  not,  we  are  able  to  lead  ourselves  and 
others,  and  such  readers  they  wish  him." 

If  we  had  accepted  either  of  these  two  condi- 
tions—  if  we  had  found  ourselves  with  those  who 


154  DELIA   BACON. 

need  this  offered  guidance,  or  with  those  who  need 
it  not  —  if  we  had  but  gone  far  enough  in  our 
readinofs  of  these  works  to  feel  the  want  of  that 
aid,  from  exterior  sources,  which  is  here  proffered 
us — there  would  not  have  been  presented  to  the 
world,  at  this  hour,  the  spectacle  —  the  stupen- 
dous spectacle  —  of  a  nation  referring  the  origin  of 
its  drama  —  a  drama  more  noble,  and  learned,  and 
subtle  than  the  Greek  —  to  the  invention  —  the 
accidental,  unconscious  invention  —  of  a  stupid, 
ignorant,  illiterate,  third-rate  play-actor. 

If  we  had,  indeed,  but  applied  to  these  works 
the  commonest  rules  of  historical  investigation  and 
criticism,  we  might,  ere  this,  have  been  led  to  in- 
quire, on  our  own  account,  whether  "  this  player 
here,"  who  brought  them  out,  might  not  possibly, 
in  an  age  like  that,  like  the  player  in  Hamlet,  have 
had  some  friend,  or  "  friends,"  w^ho  could,  "  an'  if 
they  would,"  or  "  an'  if  they  might,"  explain  his 
miracle  to  us,  and  the  secret  of  his  "  poor  cell." 

If  we  had  accepted  this  suggestion,  the  true 
Shakespeare  would  not  have  been  now  to  seek. 
In  the  circle  of  that  patronage  with  which  this 
player's  fortunes  brought  him  in  contact,  in  that 
illustrious  company  of  wits  and  poets,  we  need  not 
have  been  at  a  loss  to  find  the  philosopher  who 
writes,  in  his  prose  as  well,  and  over  his  own  name 
also, 

•'  In  Nature's  Infinite  Book  of  Secrecy, 
A  little  I  can  read  ;  "  — 


DELIA   BACON.  155 

we  should  have  found  one,  at  least,  furnished  for 
that  last  and  ripest  proof  of  learning  which  the 
drama,  in  the  unmiraculous  order  of  the  human 
development,  must  constitute ;  that  proof  of  it  in 
which  philosophy  returns  from  history,  from  its 
noblest  fields,  and  from  her  last  analysis,  with  the 
secret  and  material  of  the  creative  synthesis  —  with 
the  secret  and  material  of  art.  With  this  direction, 
we  should  have  been  able  to  identify,  ere  this,  the 
Philosopher  who  is  only  the  Poet  in  disguise  —  the 
Philosopher  who  calls  himself  the  New  Magician  — 
the  Poet  who  was  toiling  and  plotting  to  fill  the 
Globe  with  his  Arts,  and  to  make  our  common, 
every-day  human  life  poetical  —  who  would  have 
all  our  life,  and  not  a  part  of  it,  learned,  artistic, 
beautiful,  religious. 

We  should  have  found,  ere  this,  one,  with  learn- 
ing broad  enough,  and  deep  enough,  and  subtle 
enough,  and  comprehensive  enough,  one  with  no- 
bility of  aim  and  philosophic  and  poetic  genius 
enough,  to  be  able  to  claim  his  own,  his  own  im- 
mortal progeny  —  undwarfed,  unblinded,  unde- 
prived  of  one  ray  or  dimple  of  that  all-pervading 
reason  that  informs  them ;  one  who  is  able  to  re- 
claim them,  even  now,  "  cured  and  perfect  of  their 
limbs,  and  absolute  in  their  numbers,  as  he  con- 
ceived them." 


XI. 

There  are  those  who  can  remember  how  pub- 
lic attention  was  startled,  thirty-two  years  ago,  by 
this  unquestionably  bold  and  brilliant  paper.  The 
success  which  it  made,  however,  was  all  that  ever 
befell  its  author  from  her  presentation  of  these 
ideas,  either  in  the  way  of  public  approval  or  of 
the  means  of  living.  Even  the  publishers'  pur- 
pose, expressed  in  their  letter  to  her,  and  an- 
nounced to  the  public,  to  continue  a  series  of  like 
papers,  was  destined  to  fail. 

Negotiating  from  over  sea,  and  through  Emer- 
son as  an  intermediary,  she  had,  without  knowing 
it,  fallen  into  embarrassing  complications  with  dif- 
ferent publishers.  The  Boston  house  of  Phillips, 
Sampson  &  Co.  had  expressly  agreed  in  August  to 
publish  the  entire  book  when  completed.  Dix  & 
Edwards,  in  New  York,  had  undertaken  to  print 
the  first  paper  in  their  magazine,  had  asked  for 
more,  and  had  declared  their  desire  to  treat  for 
the  publication  of  the  whole. 

From  London,  therefore,  she  now  sought  to  ad- 
just her  relations  to  these  two,  which  had  been 
complicated  by  the  circumstance  that  the  Boston 
house  communicated  only  with  Emerson,  and  the 
New  York  house  with  the  author  directly.    Writ- 


DELTA   BACON.  157 

ing  now  on  the  20th  of  December  to  Dix  &  Ed- 
wards, she  expresses  much  regret  that  the  exposi- 
tion of  her  views  must  proceed  so  slowly  through 
a  monthly  periodical,  and  says  moreover  :  "  The 
first  five  or  six  articles,  which  make  the  first  part 
of  the  work  (four  of  which  I  have  now  sent),  are 
those  which  I  should  least  rely  on  for  its  accept- 
ance." It  is  not,  therefore,  to  be  wondered  at, 
that  they  answered  her  that  a  reading  of  her  sec- 
ond, third,  and  fourth  articles,  received  from  Mr. 
Emerson,  "  convinces  us  that  Mr.  Emerson  is  right 
as  to  the  publication  of  the  work.  It  should  de- 
cidedly appear  in  a  complete  book,  and  not  in  a 
magazine."  These  articles  "  are  so  general  in 
their  nature,  and  apparently  make  so  little  prog- 
ress in  the  demonstration  of  the  main  proposition, 
that  if  given  separately  they  would  weaken  rather 
than  increase  the  interest  in  the  subject.  Indeed, 
after  having  put  the  second  article  in  type  for  our 
February  number,  we  have  withheld  it  for  that 
reason."  ^'  If,  however,  you  could  furnish  for  our 
magazine  some  of  the  more  advanced  chapters 
without  their  being  injured  by  being  taken  out  of 
their  proper  connection  with  the  others,  it  would 
be  not  only  advantageous  to  us  and  you,  but  ser- 
viceable to  the  reception  of  the  work  when  it 
comes  to  be  published."  But  as  for  making  such 
publication  themselves,  since  Phillips  &  Sampson 
had  already  proposed  for  it,  they  preferred  not  to 
interfere,  and  would  write  to  Emerson  accordingly. 


158  DELIA   BACON. 

This,  then,  was  the  end  to  her  of  all  immediate 
hope ;  and  upon  hope  alone,  it  seems,  had  she 
been  for  months  sustained.  There  was  of  course 
still  the  distant  expectation  —  the  certainty  rather 
—  of  ample  means  when  once  the  book  itself 
should  be  before  the  world.  But  how  should  that 
be  managed,  when  civil  declination  was  the  very 
best  that  any  publisher  had  been  persuaded  to 
give  ?  And  how,  even,  should  she  meanwhile  '•'  re- 
tain her  connection  with  this  planet,"  which  she 
cared  to  do  only  that  the  work  might  be  done  ? 
She  had  even  brought  herself,  as  she  had  written 
to  her  brother  might  be  possible,  to  "  apply  to 
the  American  minister."  That  official  was  later 
in  the  same  year  chosen  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  was  very  near  to  being  their  last  Pres- 
ident. A  dignified  note,  signed  "  James  Bu- 
chanan," informs  her  that  he  will  do  himself  the 
pleasure  of  calling  upon  her;  but  she  could  not 
bring  herself,  when  he  called,  to  tell  him  of  her 
need.  To  her  old  friends  in  Cambridge,  however, 
she  had  now,  after  years  of  silence,  told  the  story 
of  her  late  experience  with  an  unreserve  which 
she  had  found  impossible  with  the  cold  and  grave 
stranger  who  made  an  official  call  upon  her.  Late 
in  December  she  wrote  to  them ;  and  her  letter 
recrossed  the  ocean  to  Mrs.  Professor  Farrar,  at 
Pau  in  the  Pyrenees.  She  seems  to  have  asked 
for  nothing ;  nor  did  she  need  to ;  but  instant 
relief  came  to  her  without  the  asking ;  and,  still 


DELIA    BACON.  159 

better,  evidences  of  the  strong  affection  wliich  it 
had  always  been  her  fortune  to  command.  What 
she  wrote  in  reply  is  partly  preserved  in  Mrs.  Far- 
rar's  "  Recollections." 

"  She  lived  [at  St.  Albans]  a  year,  and  then 
came  to  London,  all  alone  and  unknown,  to  seek  a 
home  there.  She  thus  describes  her  search  after 
lodgings :  '  On  a  dark  December  day,  about  one 
o'clock,  I  came  into  this  metropolis,  intending, 
with  the  aid  of  Providence,  to  select,  between  that 
and  nightfall,  a  residence  in  it.  I  had  copied 
from  the  "  Times"  several  advertisements  of  lodg- 
ing-houses, but  none  of  them  suited  me.  The  cab- 
driver,  perceiving  what  I  was  in  search  of,  began 
to  make  suggestions  of  his  own,  and  finding  that 
he  was  a  man  equal  to  the  emergency,  and  know- 
ing that  his  acquaintance  with  the  subject  was 
larger  than  mine,  I  put  the  business  into  his 
hands.  I  told  him  to  stop  at  the  first  good  house 
which  he  thought  would  suit  me,  and  he  brought 
me  to  this  door,  where  I  have  been  ever  since. 
Any  one  who  thinks  this  is  not  equal  to  Elijah 
and  his  raven,  and  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den,  does 
not  know  what  it  is  for  a  lady,  and  a  stranger,  to 
live  for  a  year  in  London,  without  any  money  to 
speak  of,  maintaining  all  the  time  the  position  of  a 
lady,  and  a  distinguished  lady  too ;  and  above  all, 
such  a  one  cannot  be  acquainted  with  the  nature 
of  cab-drivers  and  lodging-house  keepers  in  gen- 
eral.    The  one  with  whom  I  lodge  has  behaved  to 


160  DELIA   BACON. 

me  like  an  absolute  gentleman.  No  one  could 
have  shown  more  courtesy  and  delicacy.  For  six 
months  at  a  time  he  has  never  sent  me  a  bill; 
before  this  I  had  always  paid  him  weekly,  and  I 
believe  that  is  customary.  When,  after  waiting 
six  months,  I  sent  him  ten  pounds,  and  he  knew 
that  it  was  all  I  had,  he  wrote  a  note  to  me,  which 
I  preserve  as  a  curiosity,  to  say  that  he  would  en- 
tirely prefer  that  I  shoukl  keep  it.  I  have  lived 
upon  this  man's  confidence  in  me  for  a  year,  and 
this  comparatively  pleasant  and  comfortable  home 
is  one  that  I  owe  to  the  judgment  and  taste  of  a 
cab-driver.  .  .  .  Your  ten  pounds  was  brought  me 
two  or  three  hours  after  your  letter  came,  and  I 
sent  it  immediately  to  Mr.  Walker,  and  now  I  am 
entirely  relieved  of  that  most  painful  feeling  of 
the  impropriety  of  depending  upon  him  in  this 
way,  which  it  has  required  all  my  faith  and  phi- 
losophy to  endure,  because  he  can  now  very  well 
wait  for  the  rest,  and  perceive  that  the  postpone- 
ment is  not  an  indefinite  one.  Your  letter  has 
warmed  my  heart,  and  that  was  what  had  suffered 
most.  I  would  have  frozen  into  a  Niobe  before  I 
would  have  asked  any  help  for  myself,  and  would 
sell  gingerbread  and  apples  at  the  corner  of  a 
street  for  the  rest  of  my  days  before  I  could  stoop, 
for  myself,  to  such  humiliations  as  I  have  borne 
in  behalf  of  my  work,  which  was  the  world's 
work,  and  I  knew  that  I  had  a  right  to  demand 
aid  for  it.'"' 

1  Mrs.  Farrar'a  Recollections  of  Seventy  Years,  pp.  323-325. 


XII. 

In  this  extremity  of  hers  she  did  not  seek  re- 
course for  help  to  those  of  her  own  flesh  and  blood 
in  her  native  country.  They  were  very  few  ;  and 
none  of  them  could  have  helped  her  much,  from 
their  narrow  means,  and  under  their  own  heavy 
burdens.  Besides,  the  eldest  brother,  to  whom  she 
had  looked  as  to  the  head  of  her  family,  had  given 
her  deep  offense  by  his  strong  disapproval  of  the 
purpose  for  which  she  had  crossed  the  ocean. 
Late  in  April,  therefore,  her  brother  had  written 
to  Emerson  for  news  of  her,  since  her  relatives 
were  "  without  any  recent  intelligence  of  her." 

Between  these  two  men  there  must  have  been 
as  utter  a  want  of  sympathy  as  can  be  imagined 
in  the  case  of  two  New  Englanders  of  like  age,  of 
like  descent  and  education,  of  like  professional 
and  intellectual  habits,  and  of  strong  intellectual 
powers.  There  was  hardly  so  much  as  personal 
acquaintance  even,  though  each  was  well  known 
in  some  sense  to  the  other.  But  there  was  no 
want  of  tender  appreciativeness  on  Emerson's 
part  of  the  natural  solicitude  of  the  brother,  either 
in  this  first  response  or  in  the  answers  which  he 
sent  to  later  inquiries  during  the  short  remainder 
of  her  life. 


162  DELIA   BACON. 

CoNCOKD,  25  April,  1856. 
Deak  Sir,  —  I  received  your  note  last  night. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  not  had  any  letter 
directly  from  Miss  Bacon  since  last  December. 
Her  publishers  have  a  letter  dated  28  February 
last.  Her  address  at  her  last  writing  was  still  12 
Spring  Street,  Hyde  Park  Gardens,  London.  I  had 
no  ri^ht  to  expect  a  letter  after  December,  as  I 
had  told  her  that  I  was  going  to  Illinois,  about 
Christmas,  to  be  absent  six  weeks  or  more  ;  and 
she  accordingly  wrote  directly  to  Dix  &  Edwards 
of  "  Putnam's  Magazine."  I  have  regretted  much 
my  tasks  and  preoccupations  that  forbade  my 
keeping  up  an  active  correspondence  with  her, 
and  reproached  myself  lately  with  omissions,  which 
after  a  few  weeks  I  am  hoping  to  repair :  and  I 
hear  with  the  more  concern  that  you  have  no 
recent  news  of  her.  Her  letters  are  full  of  con- 
fidence and  devotion  to  her  task  —  heroic  devotion 
to  it  —  and  repeated  expressions  of  indifference  as 
to  what  becomes  of  herself,  if  only  she  accom- 
plishes her  task.  Her  latest  letters  had  also  some 
sad  allusions,  I  thought,  to  disappointment  in  not 
receiving  expected  letters,  and  some  misgivings  as 
to  her  means  for  remaining  in  England  to  prose- 
cute her  studies.  Her  arrangements  for  publica- 
tion had  not  turned  out  to  my  wish.  I  advised 
her  not  to  print  in  Putnam,  but  to  publish  her 
results  in  a  book ;  and  I  communicated  to  her  a 
proposition  from  Phillips,  Sampson  &  Co.,  which, 


DELIA   BACON.  163 

well-explained,  was  fair  and  even  generous.  But 
she  decided  to  print  in  Putnam ;  and  the  editors, 
after  the  first  article  was  printed,  refused  to  print 
the  following  ones,  and  assigned  their  reasons. 
This  refusal  left  me  in  no  proper  plight  to  carry 
the  book  to  Phillips  &  Sampson  again,  after  it  was 
thus  used  and  rejected. 

I  have  not  written  to  her,  as  indeed  I  have  laid 
my  whole  correspondence  on  the  shelf  until  cer- 
tain imperative  tasks  of  my  own  are  ended,  which 
should  soon  be.  Meantime,  I  shall  await  with 
great  interest  your  news  from  her,  and  shall  be 
entirely  at  your  service  to  obtain  information  re- 
specting her  address,  etc.,  if  she  has  changed  her 
place.  —  With  great  respect, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Rev.  Dr.  Bacox. 


XIII. 

If  Delia  Bacon  had  been  herself  a  dramatic 
poet  she  could  not  have  brought  more  faithfully 
into  action,  in  this  dull  tragedy  which  her  life 
was,  the  Horatian  precept  which  forbids  the  in- 
tervention of  a  God  into  the  plot  until  the  fit 
occasion.     That  occasion  had  now  come. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  at  this  time  consul 
for  the  United  States  at  Liverpool.  Years  before, 
he  had  written  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  and  "  The 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables,"  and  had  become 
famous.  In  that  same  village  of  Concord,  which 
was  already  renowned  through  Emerson,  he  had 
settled  down  for  the  secluded  life  of  a  man  of  let- 
ters, when,  in  1853,  his  warm  friend  President 
Pierce  bestowed  upon  him  this  place,  so  attractive 
by  the  great  income  which  then  belonged  to  it 
that  he  could  not  refuse  it.  At  the  very  time, 
almost,  that  Delia  Bacon  was  sailing  for  England, 
Hawthorne  went  to  assume  his  new  and  not  con- 
genial duties.  To  him  and  to  his  wife  she  was 
personally  unknown,  although  she  had  no  warmer 
or  more  sympathetic  friend  than  Miss  Elizabeth 
Peabody,  tbe  sister  of  Mrs.  Hawthorne.  And  to 
him,  when  all  other  help  and  hope  seemed  to  have 


DELIA   BACON.  165 

failed,  she  addressed  herself  at  last,  on  the  8th  of 
May,  1856,  from  her  London  lodgings,  in  a  letter, 
of  which  this  is  only  a  part : 


a 


Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  take  the  liberty 
of  addressing  myself  to  you  without  an  introduc- 
tion, because  you  are  the  only  one  I  know  of  in 
this  hemisphere  able  to  appreciate  the  position  in 
which  I  find  myself  at  this  moment,  and  I  know  of 
no  one  else  here  at  present  fully  qualified  to  judge 
of  the  claims  of  a  work  which  is  not  hemispherical, 
but  the  work  of  men  whose  sign  was  '  Hercules 
and  his  load  too.'   .  .  . 

"Of  course  it  is  not  pleasant  to  me  to  bring  this 
subject  to  the  attention  of  strangers,  as  I  liave 
been  and  still  am  compelled  to,  for  it  seems  like 
a  personal  intrusion,  and  like  asking  a  personal 
favor ;  and  though  I  know  well  myself  what 
grounds  I  have  for  claiming  all  the  aid  I  need, 
it  is  not  every  kind  of  mind  to  which  I  can 
make  them  apparent,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  a 
brief  interview.  Certainly  there  is  no  kind  of 
honest  thing  I  would  not  rather  do  than  to  ask  aid 
on  its  behalf  from  those  who  are  not  able  to  ap- 
preciate it  in  its  present  form ;  but  this  also  has 
been  laid  upon  me.  I  tried  long  to  get  the  means 
of  doing  it  all  by  myself,  without  asking  any  one's 
leave  or  help.  But  I  did  not  succeed  in  it.  I  lost 
years  in  the  endeavor ;  and  it  would  never  have 
been  done  at  all  if  some  of  my  friends  had  not 


166  DELIA   BACON. 

generously  come  to  my  aid.  Mr.  Emerson  is  the 
one  who  has  from  first  to  last  stood  by  me,  and 
has  never  in  any  instance  failed  to  render  me  the 
assistance  I  sought  of  him.  And  I  am  greatly  in- 
debted to  Miss  Peabody  for  her  most  generous 
and  active  interest  in  the  subject,  though  it  is 
now  a  long  time  since  I  have  had  any  communi- 
cation with  her  in  reference  to  it. 

"  If  it  were  anything  in  the  world  but  what 
it  is,  —  a  science,  —  a  science  that  the  world  is 
waiting  for,  I  could  not  do  and  suffer  what  I  have 
done  and  suffered  on  its  behalf.  I  ought  not  to 
hesitate  at  all  to  ask  for  all  the  help  I  need  in  it, 
for  it  is  a  work  which  the  Providence  of  this 
world  has  imposed  on  me,  and  I  have  cast  into  its 
treasury  not  only  all  the  living  that  I  had,  such  as 
it  was,  but  my  life  also.  .  .  . 

"  For  I  want  some  literary  counsel,  and  such  as 
no  Englishman  of  letters  is  able  to  give  me.  Mr. 
Carlyle  has  been  a  most  cordial  personal  friend  to 
me,  but  there  are  reasons  why  I  could  not  ask  this 
help  from  him,  which  would  become  apparent  to 
you  if  you  should  look  at  the  work  at  all.  Before 
I  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  England,  and 
when  I  had  not  yet  found  the  means  of  coming 
myself,  I  had  wished  to  communicate  my  discov- 
ery to  you,  and  Mr.  Emerson  had  promised  me  an 
opportunity  of  doing  so ;  but  I  concluded  that 
your  duties  here  would  be  so  engrossing  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  you  to   think  about  it. 


DELIA   BACON.  167 

But  now  that  it  is  certain  beyond  all  possibility  of 
a  doubt,  now  that  there  is  no  shadow  of  a  shade  of 
uncertainty  in  regard  to  it,  I  feel  that  I  should  be 
wanting  to  my  position  if  I  allowed  the  dread  I 
have  of  annoying  you  and  intruding  on  that 
leisure  which  is  so  precious  to  you  now,  to  pre- 
vent me  from  taking  any  step  which  might  pos- 
sibly tend  to  effect  my  object. 

"  The  work  admits  of  publication  in  separate 
portions.  What  I  want  is  to  begin  to  publish 
immediately  a  part  of  it,  enough  to  secure  the  dis- 
covery. I  suppose  there  is  hardly  a  doubt  that 
some  American  publisher  might  be  found  to  take 
the  plates  on  those  terms,  for  Phillips  &  Samp- 
son offered  last  July  to  advance  forty  pounds  on 
the  first  edition,  and  all  the  extra  expense  of  this 
arrangement  is  by  this  proposal  to  be  subtracted 
from  my  share  of  the  profits.  But  I  should  not 
dare  to  begin  without  some  advice.  I  would  not 
be  willing  to  print  any  part  of  it  till  some  friendly 
eye  had  overlooked  it,  if  there  were  no  other 
reason  for  delay.  It  is  not  hard  reading.  Would 
you  be  willing  to  take  a  part  of  it,  a  part  which 
you  could  read  in  an  evening  or  so,  and  tell  me 
whether  it  would  pay  for  the  cost  of  the  plates  or 
no?  For  that  is  the  question.  If  you  should 
give  your  consent  to  it,  I  think  I  would  send  you 
to  begin  with  the  very  least  popular  part  of  it, 
which  contains  the  'Art  of  Tradition,'  which  was 
not  only  invented,  but  employed  for  the  Advance- 


168  DELIA   BACON. 

ment  of  Learning ;  because  this  includes  inciden- 
tally the  whole  science  which  had  to  be  brought 
out  then  in  a  popular  form,  in  order  to  answer 
the  purpose  of  its  founders.  It  is  a  science  which 
naturally  requires  that  form  however,  and  which 
could  not  be  adequately  exhibited  in  any  other. 
But  this  part  contains  that  scientific  abstract  of  it, 
which  is  the  key  to  the  popular  theatrical  exhi- 
bition, and  which  enables  the  scholar  to  compre- 
hend at  a  glance  the  whole  scope  of  this  discovery. 
"  And  then  afterwards,  if  you  were  not  offended 
with  that,  I  should  like  to  send  you  one  of  those 
Plays  unfolded,  in  which,  by  means  of  the  Baco- 
nian Rhetoric  or  illustrated  delivery  of  sciences,  the 
Baconian  Logic  is  applied  to  the  delicate  subject  of 
the  Cure  of  the  Commonweal  in  the  reis-n  of  James 
the  First,  or  one  in  which  it  is  applied  to  the  most 
important  social  questions,  which  are  as  much  in 
need  of  scientific  treatment  now  as  they  were  at 
the  time  when  they  were  first  included  under  the 
science  of  nature  in  general  by  its  founders.  And 
perhaps  in  the  end  you  would  be  willing  to  glance 
over  at  your  leisure  the  part  which  makes  the  In- 
troduction to  the  common  reader,  which  contains  a 
new  view  of  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  whose 
place  in  the  World's  History  it  is  our  business  to 
define.  I  depend  on  .a  series  of  Articles  I  have 
sent  to  '  Putnam's,'  written  in  a  very  different  style, 
in  which  I  have  undertaken  to  send  the  old  Player 
about  his  business,  to  make  way  for  this  graver 


DELIA   BACON.  169 

performance,  and  I  think  if  those  should  be  pub- 
Hshed,  you  will  find  that  the  boards  are  cleared 
and  ready  for  my  new  actors.  That  I  have  just 
written,  but  this  part  which  I  wish  you  to  look  at 
has  been  ready  and  waiting  here  for  nearly  a  year ; 
but  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  English  nation 
were  too  mighty  for  me,  and  besides  I  had  to  wait 
I  suppose  till  this  great  war^  was  done.  I  hope 
you  will  understand  that  I  do  not  speak  with  any 
assurance  of  my  own  part  in  this  work.  All  my 
confidence  is  grounded  on  the  indestructible  value 
of  the  discovery.  I  was  not  a  writer  when  I 
began,  I  despaired  of  ever  being  able  to  write  it ; 
I  had  to  keep  my  secret  for  many  years,  because  I 
did  not  know  how  to  tell  it.  I  came  to  this  coun- 
try in  the  hope  of  escaping  from  that  burthen.  I 
expected  to  find  here,  all  ready  to  my  hands,  what 
would  make  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  enter  upon 
this  task.  What  I  expected  to  find  here,  I  know 
to  be  here  now,  and  the  means  I  need  for  possess- 
ing myself  of  this  support  are  very  simple  now. 
.  .  .  You  see  this  is  a  piece  of  history  made  by 
Poets,  and  great  men,  the  most  magnificent  mas- 
terly kind  of  men,  and  all  those  miserable  little 
humdrum  people,  who  think  there  can't  be  any- 
thing true  but  the  sordid  kind  of  prose  and  matter 
of  fact  that  they  are  capable  of,  are  going  to  be 
put  to  confusion  with  it  forever,  and  they  seem  to 
have  an  instinctive  perception  of  it. 

"  And  now,  sir,  you  will  begin  to  perceive,  per- 

^  The  Crimean  War. 


170  DELIA   BACON. 

haps,  why  it  is  that  I  address  myself  particularly 
to  yourself  in  this  emergency.  ...  I  am  deter- 
mined it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  this  thing  is  lost 
to  us,  and  there  is  nothing  else  I  have  left  untried, 
I  believe,  in  my  attempts  to  save  it." 

This  was  certainly  an  alarming  appeal  to  come 
from  an  utter  stranger  to  a  man  of  shrinking 
sensitiveness,  overburdened  with  distasteful  official 
duties,  with  his  full  share  of  private  anxieties,  with 
his  own  literary  work  hampered  and  retarded  by 
want  of  time  and  by  private  and  public  cares.  It 
was  an  appeal  which,  upon  his  responding  to  it, 
brought  him  heavy  burdens  of  many  kinds,  which 
indeed  he  could  not  have  failed  to  foresee.  It 
would  not  have  been  hard  for  him,  had  he  been  as 
fully  endowed  with  insight  as  the  wise  people  who 
have  always  found  the  sayings  of  Delia  Bacon  to 
be  the  palpable  vagaries  of  a  disordered  mind,  to 
dismiss  her  and  her  "  work"  with  a  discouraging 
word  or  two,  and  thus  to  save  himself  much  care 
and  toil  and  loss  in  many  ways.  It  is  no  more 
than  justice  to  her  that  men  should  know  what 
Hawthorne  thought  of  her.  But  to  Hawthorne 
himself  there  is  nothino;  in  all  his  life  or  in  all  that 
he  wrote  more  honorable  than  the  noble  generos- 
ity, the  unwearying  patience,  the  exquisite  consid- 
erateness  and  delicacy,  with  which  for  two  years 
he  gave  unstinted  help,  even  of  that  material  sort 
which  she  would  not  ask  for,  to  this  lonely  coun- 


DELIA  BACON.  171 

try  woman.  He  never  saw  her  —  so  he  has  told 
the  world  —  but  once  ;  and  these  letters  will  show 
how,  in  the  approach  of  that  mental  disorder  which 
her  intense  labors  and  anxieties  were  surely  bring- 
ing on,  she  returned  what  seemed  ingratitude,  and 
almost  outrage,  for  his  patient  and  tender  counsel 
and  aid.  If,  indeed,  there  were  no  other  reason 
for  telling  her  melancholy  story,  the  illumination 
which  it  casts  upon  the  figure,  already  become 
romantic,  of  Hawthorne  would  justify  it. 

These  are  the  first  of  the  many  letters  which 
make  up  the  correspondence. 

[Hawthorne   to   D.  B,] 

Liverpool,  May  12,  1856. 

Deak  Miss  Bacon,  — ■  It  was  quite  unnecessary 
to  send  me  these  introductory  letters  (which  I  re- 
enclose)  for  I  have  long  entertained  a  high  respect 
for  your  character,  and  an  interest  in  your  object, 
so  far  as  I  understood  it.  To  be  sure,  I  know  very 
little  about  it,  not  having  seen  the  articles  in 
"  Putnam,"  nor  heard  anything  but  some  vague 
talk  from  Miss  Peabody,  three  years  ago.  Neither 
do  I  think  myself  a  very  fit  person  to  comprehend 
the  matter,  nor  to  advise  you  in  it ;  especially 
now,  when  I  am  bothered  and  bored,  and  harassed 
and  torn  in  pieces,  by  a  thousand  items  of  daily 
business,  and  benumbed  as  to  that  part  of  my  mind 
to  which  your  work  would  appeal,  and  depressed 
by  domestic  anxieties.      I  say  this,  however,  by 


172  DELIA   BACON. 

no  means  to  excuse  myself  from  the  endeavor  to 
be  of  service  to  you  in  any  and  every  manner,  but 
only  to  suggest  reasons  why  I  shall  probably  be 
useless  as  a  critic  and  a  judge.  If  you  really  think 
that  I  can  promote  ^^our  object,  tell  me  definitely 
how,  and  try  me  ;  and  if  I  can  say  a  true  word  to 
yourself  about  the  work,  it  shall  certainly  be  said; 
or  if  I  can  aid,  personally,  or  through  any  connec- 
tions in  London,  in  bringing  the  book  before  the 
public,  it  shall  be  done. 

I  would  not  be  understood,  my  dear  Miss  Bacon, 
as  professing  to  have  faith  in  the  correctness  of 
your  views.  In  fact,  I  know  far  too  little  of  them 
to  have  any  right  to  form  an  opinion :  and  as  to 
the  case  of  the  "old  Player"  (whom  you  grieve 
my  heart  by  speaking  of  so  contemptuously)  you 
will  have  to  rend  him  out  of  me  by  the  roots,  and 
by  main  force,  if  at  all.  But  I  feel  that  you  have 
done  a  thing  that  ought  to  be  reverenced,  in  de- 
voting yourself  so  entirely  to  this  object,  whatever 
it  be,  and  whether  right  or  wrong ;  and  that,  by 
so  doing,  you  have  acquired  some  of  the  privileges 
of  an  inspired  person  and  a  prophetess  —  and  that 
the  world  is  bound  to  hear  you,  if  for  nothing  else, 
yet  because  you  are  so  sure  of  your  own  mission. 

I  gather  from  your  note  to  Mr.  Emerson  that 
you  are  apprehensive  of  being  anticipated  by  a 
work  announced  for  publication  in  London.  I 
have  not  seen  this  announcement ;  but  I  would 
stake  my  life  that  you  will  not  find  your  views 


DELIA   BACON.  173 

trenched  upon  in  the  least;  although  (having 
made  your  idea  so  obvious  to  yours^elf )  it  is  natural 
that  you  should  suppose  it  as  clear  as  sunshine  to 
any  other  mind. 

I  know  that  you  will  not  take  any  offense  from 
the  frankness  with  which  I  write.  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  pay  anj^  compliments,  or  to  speak  any- 
thing but  the  plainest  truth  (according  to  my  own 
views),  in  dealing  with  the  noble  earnestness  of 
your  character. 

Believe  me,  very  sincerely, 

and  most  respectfully  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

P.  S.  If  I  had  known  that  you  were  still  in 
England,  I  should  have  tried  to  meet  ^'ou  before 
now  ;  but  I  thought  you  had  long  ago  returned  to 
America.  I  shall  probably  be  in  London  in  the 
course  of  next  month,  when  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
(whose  health  is  very  delicate)  will  be  on  her 
return  from  Madeira.  If  your  affairs  make  it 
desirable,  you  can  bid  me  come  to  you  then. 

N.  H. 

Your  letter  to  Mr.  Emerson  was  in  season  for 
the  steamer,  and  has  gone  by  it.     N.  H. 

12  Spring  St.,  Sussex  Gardens,  Hyde  Park, 

May  18,  1856. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
manful  and  whole-souled  response  to  my  applica- 
tion for  help  in  my  work,  and  I  am  not  sorry  that 


174  DELIA  BACON. 

I  wrote  to  you,  if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of  this 
return.  You  have  quieted  my  apprehension  a 
little  in  regard  to  the  book  I  referred  to  in  my  note 
to  Mr.  Emerson,  although  I  cannot  say  that  my 
mind  is  altogether  at  rest  on  that  subject.  That 
view  which  you  take  of  it  I  understand  and  appre- 
ciate, but  still  I  do  not  quite  like  the  title  of  it. 
And  that  was  the  immediate  occasion  of  my  writ- 
ing to  you.  For  though  I  was  aware  of  your  being 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  have  often  wished 
that  it  were  possible  to  communicate  with  you  in 
regard  to  my  work,  I  knew  how  much  time  a  Con- 
sul w^ould  be  likely  to  have  for  a  business  of  this 
kind,  and  I  had  not  the  conscience  to  ask  you  to 
interest  yourself  in  it. 

But  the  discovery  of  "  the  Philosophy  of  Shake- 
speare "  is  the  real  discovery  which  I  pretend  to 
have  made,  and  the  other  part  is  of  no  conse- 
quence except  as  it  is  connected  with  that ;  and  it 
was  the  necessity  of  getting  my  work  out  before 
this  subject  came  to  be  discussed  here  which  im- 
pressed me  so  strongly  as  to  induce  me  to  write 
to  you.  And  in  the  interval  between  the  writing 
of  the  note  to  Mr.  Emerson  and  the  conclusion 
to  inclose  rt  to  yourself,  I  saw  an  intimation  in 
another  quarter  that  something  is  going  to  be  done 
in  that  department,  and  that  the  time  for  it  has 
come.  The  Article  in  the  last  "  Edinburgh  Re- 
view "  on  the  Collier  controversy  contains  an  inti- 
mation that  that  sort  of  criticism  has  had  its  day 


DELIA   BACON.  175 

here,  and  that  the  period  for  an  entirely  different 
kind  is  now  beginning. 

I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  able  to  get  my  book 
printed  here,  and  to  put  in  circulation  as  many 
copies  as  are  necessary  to  effect  a  legal  publication 
and  no  more.  I  do  not  care  to  have  any  atten- 
tion directed  to  it  in  this  country  at  present.  It 
is  not  adapted  to  this  hemisphere,  and  it  is  better 
that  it  should  come  out  in  America  as  an  American 
work  entirely.  That  opinion  is  however  the  result 
of  my  study  of  the  subject  since  I  came.  There 
has  been  as  yet  I  believe  but  one  Article  of  it  pub- 
lished in  "  Putnam's  Magazine,"  and  that  is  one 
that  was  written  three  years  ago.  But  I  have  just 
been  sending  three  or  four  more  which  I  do  rely  on 
for  introducing  the  subject  properly  to  the  atten- 
tion of  those  whom  it  concerns,  and  I  have  con- 
cluded to  wait  now  till  I  hear  from  those,  or  until 
I  receive  an  answer  from  Mr.  Emerson,  instead  of 
resorting  to  any  such  desperate  measures  as  those 
which  I  felt  myself  capable  of  when  I  wrote  to  you 
before.  Still  I  should  be  very  glad  to  avail  myself 
of  the  kind  interest  you  have  expressed  in  my 
work  as  a  work  merely,  to  ask  you  to  look  over 
quite  at  your  leisure  a  part  of  it  which  contains 
the  doctrine  of  the  work,  that  you  may  see  what  it 
is,  and  whether  you  approve  of  it  or  not,  without 
feeling  called  upon  to  express  any  opinion,  or  to 
assume  any  responsibility  in  regard  to  it,  which 
your  want  of   time  to  consider  the  subject   suffi- 


176  DELIA   BACON. 

ciently,  or  the  requirements  of  your  public  position, 
may  make  it  unsuitable  or  inconvenient  for  you  to 
assume.  It  is  not  as  if  I  were  asking  you  to  judge 
of  an  original  work  of  my  own.  It  does  not  de- 
pend on  my  powers  of  composition  for  its  claims, 
though  it  does  perhaps  for  its  chance  of  an  imme- 
diate recognition  of  those  claims.  But  I  am  giving 
you  an  idea  that  it  is  something  much  more  formi- 
dable than  it  is.  This  book  of  mine  does  not  re- 
quire study,  though  the  books  to  which  it  is  related 
do.  The  utmost  that  I  ask  for  mine  is  a  perusal.  I 
am  proposing  to  send  you  indeed  the  very  driest 
part  of  it,  and  the  one  on  which  I  do  not  rely  for 
an  impression  with  the  public  generally.  But  it  is 
all  out  of  that  new  fountain  of  philosophy,  which  is 
life  itself  condensed  and  intensified,  —  abstracted 
and  cleared  and  recomposed  in  forms  much  more 
to  the  purpose  than  the  spontaneous  combinations. 
The  truth  is,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  it 
read,  and  you  are  the  only  person  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  whom  I  could  ask  to  do  it,  and  I  would 
not  urge  it  upon  you,  knowing  as  I  do  how  serious 
your  preoccupations  are,  if  I  did  not  know  that  you 
would  find  it  at  least  an  easy  task,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  it  promises,  I  hope  a  pleasant 
one.  If  I  do  send  it  to  you  you  must  take  your 
own  time  for  it,  for  since  I  have  decided  not  to 
attempt  to  publish  it  till  I  am  warranted  in  doing 
so  by  what  I  hear  from  America,  there  is  no  im- 
mediate urgency. 


DELIA   BACON.  177 

I  hope  I  may  have  the  honor  and  pleasure  of 
seeing  both  yourself  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne  when 
you  come  to  London,  though  I  have  conversed  so 
long  with  spirits  that  the  idea  of  seeing  any  one 
in  the  body  is  quite  appalling  to  my  imagination. 
I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Hawthorne's 
state  of  health  is  a  source  of  anxiety  to  you,  and 
that  she  has  been  compelled  to  seek  another  climate 
on  that  account.  Permit  me  to  express  my  sincere 
hopes  that  she  may  return  to  you  quite  well. 
Though  I  have  never  seen  her  I  have  heard  of  her 
from  those  who  know  her  well. 

Very  gratefully  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

P.  S.  I  am  sorry  to  have  hurt  your  feelings 
with  my  profane  allusions  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester's 
groom,  a  witty  fellow  enough  in  his  way.  But 
long  familiarity  with  the  facts  has  produced  a 
hopeless  obduracy  in  my  mind  on  that  point. 
The  person  that  you  love  and  reverence  is  not 
touched  by  my  proceeding.  I  have  not  hurt  a  hair 
of  his  head.  He  is  the  one  I  am  at  work  for.  If 
anybody  boasts  of  love  and  reverence,  to  him  I 
might  produce  my  case,  and  say  with  St.  Paul  ^  / 
more.'  But  I  do  not,  of  course,  expect  you  to 
adopt  my  views  until  you  find  yourself  compelled 
to  do  so,  neither  do  I  wish  you  to  give  the  faintest 
countenance  to  them  till  you  know  fully  what  they 
are  and  their  grounds.     And  this  part  of  the  book 


178  DELIA   BACON. 

that  I  propose  to  send  to  you  does  not  suffice  to 
put  you  in  possession  of  the  case  entirely,  and  it 
would  not  be  proper  to  expect  from  you  any 
avowal  of  opinion  in  regard  to  the  question  of 
the  work  based  on  that  alone.     D.  B. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  May  16,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  am  ready  to  receive  the 
manuscript,  as  soon  as  you  please  to  send  it. 

I  have  been  looking  at  the  Shakspeare  article, 

in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  I  do  not  see  that  it 

suggests  anything  more   than   a  different  system 

from  that  heretofore  in  use  for  amending  the  text. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

12  Spring  St.,  Sussex  Gardens,  Hyde  Park, 

May  24  [1856]. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  most  thankfully 
avail  myself  of  your  kind  permission  to  send  you 
my  manuscript,  —  a  favor  which,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  do  fully  appreciate,  and  on  account 
of  the  gravity  of  the  questions  involved  in  the 
work,  and  the  feebleness  of  the  agency  employed 
in  it,  I  shall  have  to  bespeak  your  utmost  patience. 
This  is  only  a  part,  and  a  small  part,  of  my  book, 
and  it  was  never  meant  to  be  read  by  itself.  The 
articles  sent  to  the  Magazine  were  addressed  to 
that   violent  presupposition  which  this  discovery 


DELIA   BACON.  179 

has  to  encounter  at  the  first  step,  and  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  that  part  of  the  case 
which  is  produced  in  those  articles  disposes  of  the 
present  theory  of  the  authorship  of  these  works. 
I  do  not  claim  anything  more  for  it.  But  in  the 
hook,  I  relied  on  the  historical  part  of  the  work, 
which  precedes  this,  and  on  the  Interpretation  of 
the  Plays,  which  follows  it,  to  interest  the  general 
reader,  while  in  this  I  am  obliged  to  presuppose 
the  attention  of  a  class  of  readers  specially  quali- 
fied to  consider  a  question  of  this  kind,  and  who 
would  be  best  prepared  to  weigh  the  kind  of  evi- 
dence which  is  produced  here. 

You  will  see  that  the  mere  question  of  the 
authorship  of  the  Vlays  is  a  secondary  question  in 
this  inquiry.  I  found  this  system  of  philosophy  in 
the  Plays.  They  were  my  study  for  many  years, 
and  I  worked  it  all  out  of  them  without  knowing 
that  it  was  that  part  of  the  great  philosophic  sys- 
tem which  was  brought  out  in  that  age,  which 
naturally  required  this  particular  form  of  exhibi- 
tion, and  which  could  not  then  be  produced  in  any 
other,  —  and  moreover  that  part  of  it  which  could 
not  then  be  claimed  by  its  authors  in  any  form.  I 
had  read  the  "  Advancement  of  Learning  "  more 
than  once,  but  I  had  read  it  as  a  book  that  it  was 
incumbent  on  me  to  read,  and  my  only  business 
was  to  see  in  it  what  the  critics  had  told  me  I  was 
to  find  there,  so  that  my  knowledge  of  the  author 
and  his  aims  really  remained  second-handed.     I 


180  DELIA    BACON. 

went  to  the  reading  of  it  with  the  common  impres- 
sion in  regard  to  the  aim  of  this  philosophy,  and  in 
regard  to  the  personal  character  of  the  author,  then 
freshened  up  by  Mr.  Macaulay's  vivid  exhibition 
of  both  into  a  sentiment  of  absolute  detestation, 
and  though  I  saw  some  things  there  which  very 
much  surprised  me,  for  I  was  then  studying  Ham- 
let, and  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  the  fact 
that  in  one  or  two  places  this  man  did  seem  to  be 
in  his  secret,  and  that  it  was  not  the  man  that 
Macaulay  described  at  all,  but  one  of  a  very  differ- 
ent range  of  comprehension  and  doctrine,  and 
though  I  never  did  get  those  glimpses  of  him  quite 
out  of  my  mind,  I  could  not  think  of  resisting  such 
an  authority,  and  suffered  myself  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  the  weight  of  it,  —  at  least  I  did  not 
pursue  the  inquiry  any  further.  But  my  impres- 
sion of  the  character  of  the  man  was  so  strong  that 
I  made  a  personal  thing  of  it,  and  there  was  no 
man,  dead  or  alive,  that  really  on  the  whole  gave 
me  so  much  cause  of  offense  with  his  contradic- 
tions. He  appeared  to  be  such  a  standing  disgrace 
to  genius  and  learning,  that  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  ask  anybody  to  study  anything.  And  that  was 
the  state  of  my  mind  exactly  when  in  my  study  of 
the  Plays,  after  having  worked  my  way  at  last  to 
the  inmost  of  those  inner  readings,  which  you  will 
find  referred  to  here,  I  found  mvself  directed  to 
that  source  for  further  information  in  regard  to 
the  plan  of  these  works,  and  particularly  for  "  the 


DELIA   BACON.  181 

table  "  of  them,  and  I  found  the  authorship  of  them 
ckiimed  by  this  man,  and  his  associates,  of  whom  I 
then  knew  nothing ;  I  had  always  supposed  that 
he  was  alone  in  his  enterprise,  and  as  to  the  per- 
sons named,  and  particularly  as  to  his  chief  partner 
in  his  literary  undertakings,  my  knowledge  of  him 
then  would  have  led  me  to  think  of  anything 
sooner  than  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing.  But 
the  subsequent  investigation  shows  that  that  read- 
ing was  correct.  He  was  associated  with  this  man, 
though  the  fact  of  an  association  was  the  fact 
which  was  most  guarded  from  observation.  There 
was  much  use  for  what  Lord  Bacon  calls  "  color," 
in  those  times,  and  the  exigency  found  or  produced 
persons  of  great  artistic  gifts  in  the  management 
of  it.  I  did  not  intend  to  trouble  you  with  this 
preface,  but  as  I  have  not  even  the  introductory 
article  which  has  been  published  to  send  to  you, 
and  as  I  have  concluded  to  keep  back  the  historical 
part  of  the  work,  because  I  think  it  admits  of  being 
very  much  improved,  it  is  proper  perhaps  to  say 
as  much  as  this  by  way  of  introduction,  since  I 
have  to  put  my  work  to  so  severe  a  test  as  to  ask 
you  to  begin  in  the  middle  of  it  with  your  criti- 
cism. And  as  Mr.  Emerson  has  carefully  read  the 
"  Advancement  of  Learning  "  since  I  brought  the 
subject  to  his  attention,  for  the  sake  of  one  sen- 
tence in  this  letter  of  his  I  take  leave  to  inclose  it 
to  3^0 u ;  as  the  subject  is  so  very  new,  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  see  that  opinion,  and  Mr.  Emer- 


182  DELIA   BACON. 

son  does  not  object  to  its  being  used  in  that  man- 
ner. I  had  a  long  conversation  with  Mr.  Grote  on 
the  subject  last  summer.  It  was  impossible  for 
him  to  enter  on  the  investigation  of  the  question, 
for  he  was  then  occupied  with  his  twelfth  volume, 
and  was  wholly  unprepared  to  express  an  opinion 
on  the  subject;  he  spoke  of  the  immense  presup- 
position to  be  encountered,  but  he  said  distinctly 
he  could  not  say  it  was  not  so,  and  Avhen  I  gave 
him  an  account  of  the  way  in  which  I  had  arrived 
at  it,  he  said,  and  that  was  at  the  close  of  the  con- 
versation, that  he  was  certainly  inclined  to  respect 
an  opinion  based  on  such,  an  inquiry. 

I  owe  you  an  apology  for  sending  you  such  a 
patched  and  scratched  and  ill-looking  manuscript. 
I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  it,  but  1  cannot  help 
it,  for  I  am  not  strong,  and  it  tires  me  very  much 
to  write,  and  it  was  as  much  as  ever  I  could  do  to 
make  it  as  good  as  it  is.  I  looked  at  the  Article  in 
the  "  Review,"  to  which  I  referred,  in  great  haste, 
at  the  London  Library,  and  when  I  was  afraid  of 
losing  the  object  for  which  I  went  there,  by  stop- 
ping to  do  so,  and  I  had  no  opportunity  to  look  at 
it  afterwards  to  correct  my  mistake.  I  suppose  it 
was  because  my  mind  was  preoccupied  with  that 
idea ;  you  must  not  take  it  for  a  specimen  of  my 
usual  reading.  I  do  not  expect  j^ou  to  pronounce 
an  opinion  in  regard  to  the  question  of  the  work, 
but  by  the  time  you  have  read  it  through,  and  I 
wish  you   would  do  it  at  your  leisure,  you  will 


DELIA   BACON.  183 

see,  perhaps,  why  I  wished  to  have  it  read,  and 
why  I  feel  at  Hberty  to  call  for  help  in  getting  it 
published. 

Very  gratefully  and  truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacoj^^. 

[Hawthobne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  May  26,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  BACOisr,  —  I  have  just  received  the 
manuscript,  and  will  read  it  diligently  and   care- 
fully, and  (so  far  as  depends  on  myself)  with  a 
disposition  to  receive  the  truth  of  the  matter. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  Jane  21,  '56. 

Dear  Miss  BACoisr,  —  You  will  have  thought 
me  inexcusably  dilatory  for  not  sooner  writing  to 
you ;  but  I  have  been  absent  from  Liverpool  a 
great  part  of  the  time  —  Mrs.  Hawthorne  having 
recently  arrived  at  Southampton.  I  shall  establish 
her  near  London  early  in  July,  and  will  then  hope 
to  meet  you  personally. 

Meanwhile,  though  I  have  not  had  time  to  read 
the  whole  of  your  manuscript,  I  cannot  refrain 
from  saying  that  I  think  the  work  an  admirable 
one.  You  seem  to  me  to  have  read  Bacon  and 
Montaigne  more  profoundly  than  anybody  else  has 
read  them.  It  is  very  long  (it  was  in  my  early 
youth,  indeed)  since   I   used   to  read  and  re-read 


184  DELIA    BACON. 

Montaigne ;  and  in  order  to  do  any  justice  to  your 
views  I  ought  to  re-peruse  him  now  —  and  Bacon, 
also  —  and  Shakspeare  too.  I  cannot  say,  at  pres- 
ent, that  I  adopt  your  theory,  if  I  rightly  compre- 
hend it  as  partially  developed  in  this  portion  of 
your  work.  We  find  thoughts  in  all  great  writers 
(and  even  in  small  ones)  that  strike  their  roots  far 
beneath  the  surface,  and  intertwine  themselves 
with  the  roots  of  other  writers'  thoughts ;  so  that 
when  we  pull  up  one,  we  stir  the  whole,  and  yet 
those  writers  have  had  no  conscious  society  with 
one  another.  I  express  this  very  shabbily :  but 
you  will  think  it  for  nie  better  than  I  can  say  it. 

But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  depth  and 
excellence  of  your  work,  and  its  worthiness  to 
come  before  the  world.  If  I  can  contribute  in  any 
way  to  this  good  end,  I  shall  esteem  myself  happy. 
I  am  not  particularly  well  off  pecuniarily,  but  can 
do  somewhat  in  that  way,  and  perhaps  in  other 
ways.  When  I  see  you  (or  sooner,  if  you  like)  we 
can  talk  of  this. 

In  haste,  sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

12  Spring  St.,  Sussex  Gardens, 
H.  Park,  June  22,  '56. 

Deae  Mr.  Hawthokne,  —  That  little  piece  of 
my  work  which  you  have  in  your  hands  does  not 
furnish  you  with  the  means  of  coming  to  any  satis- 


DELIA    BACON.  185 

factory  conclasion  in  regard  to  it.  I  wished  you 
to  see  in  outline  the  comprehension  of  it,  and  I 
was  afraid  of  burthening  you  by  putting  the  whole 
in  your  hands,  for  it  is  a  formidable  undertaking 
to  read  a  work  in  manuscript,  I  know,  under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances.  But  before  you  say 
anything  about  it,  even  to  yourself,  I  do  most  ear- 
nestly entreat  that  you  will  find  time  to  look  over 
this  tragedy  of  "  Lear,"  which  I  send  to  you  "  un- 
folded." I  am  writing  another  chapter  to  bring  it 
down  to  the  present  time,  and  I  think  of  publish- 
ing it  by  itself,  as  a  Tract,  though  I  do  not  propose 
to  ask  the  Tract  Society  to  publish  it  for  me.  I 
wished  very  much  to  send  with  this  also  "  Coriola- 
nus,"  which  contains  the  application  of  the  same 
method  of  inquiry  and  the  same  art  of  delivery  to 
the  question  of  the  Cure  of  the  Commonweal.  If 
you  will  read  these  three  Tragedies  which  make  the 
third  part  of  my  work,  you  will  be  able  to  judge 
then  of  the  claim  which  I  make  for  it,  that  it  con- 
tains, however  unworthily  set  forth,  the  Discovery 
of  the  Modern  Science,  the  buried  Discovery  which 
the  necessities  of  this  time  have  cried  to  Heaven 
for,  and  not  in  vain.  I  see  my  way  much  more 
clearly  now  than  when  I  wrote  these  criticisms. 
They  have  been  finished  more  than  a  year,  waiting 
their  time.  The  chapter  I  am  writing  now  is  of 
more  serious  import  than  anything  contained  in 
them  at  present.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  get 
them  published  while  I  live.     But  if  I  can  finish 


186  DELIA  bacon: 

the  work  acceptably  to  the  power  that  has  im- 
posed it  on  me,  and  leave  it  in  safe  hands,  —  and 
for  myself  personally,  if  I  can  avoid  the  dishonor 
which  the  failure  in  the  contracts  I  have  relied  on 
seems  likely  to  involve  me  in  here,  at  this  distance 
from  all  my  friends,  that  is  all  that  I  ask  from  God 
or  man  in  reference  to  it ;  at  least,  that  is  all  I 
think  of  for  the  present. 

[Then  follows  an  account,  covering  many  pages 
of  her  close  manuscript,  of  the  perplexities  which 
had  come  about  her  from  the  cross-purposes  and 
misunderstandings  with  American  publishers,  and 
especially  from  the  refusal  of  the  magazine  publish- 
ers to  accomplish  their  declared  purpose,  and  what 
she  had  considered  their  formal  engagement,  to 
print  and  pay  for  successive  articles,  one  of  which 
indeed  they  had  even  put  completely  into  type.  To 
repeat  the  story  would  indeed  illustrate,  as  hardly 
anything  else  could,  the  gentle  patience  of  her 
correspondent,  who  bore  with  all  her  excited  com- 
plaints, though  it  was  not  difficult  to  discern  in 
them  the  approach  of  those  disturbances  which 
before  many  months  were  to  become  declared  in- 
sanity ;  not  shrinking,  meanwhile,  from  the  vari- 
ous burdens  which  were  offered  to  his  shoulders. 
She  tells  how,  in  utter  extremity,  she  had  resorted 
to  General  Campbell,  the  consul  in  London,  who 
was  also  a  stranger  to  her ;  how  he  had  "  ad- 
vanced "  her  twenty  pounds,  to  be  repaid  from  the 
proceeds  of  her  successive  articles;  and  how  her 


DELIA   BACON.  187 

brother  had  a  few  days  before  sent  her  ten  pounds, 
which  she  had  immediately  enclosed  to  Mr.  Camp- 
bell. She  asks  of  Hawthorne,  however,  absolutely 
nothing  but  this  :] 

The  way  in  which  you  can  help  me  will  be  to 
certify  that  you  have  read  my  book  and  that  it  is 
entitled  to  a  publication.  If  you  can  say  that,  it 
will  go  far  towards  making  it  successful,  —  and 
you  have  said  it  already.  I  would  not  ask  you  to 
say  it  here,  but  to  Mr.  Emerson,  or  to  the  Ameri- 
can publishers.  It  has  had  to  depend  on  my  own 
certificate  of  its  merits  entirely  hitherto.  Your 
word  with  the  American  public  would  secure  it  a 
reading.  There  is  going  to  be  another  kind  of 
demonstration.  I  want  this  published  first.  I 
know  it  is  a  good  book  because  I  have  tried  it. 
1  have  read  it  and  been  strengthened  and  made 
better  by  it  repeatedly.  But  the  publishers,  I  sup- 
pose, would  think  that  that  was  not  the  very  best 
testimony  in  the  world,  and  though  Mr.  Emerson 
has  been  willing  to  confide  in  my  word  for  it,  I 
don't  doubt  he  would  be  very  glad  to  know  your 
opinion  of  it. 

But  not  to  make  a  book  of  this,  in  reference  to 
these  immediate  difficulties,  if  you  see  any  way  in 
which  you  can  help  me  I  know  you  will.  General 
Campbell  is  entirely  a  stranger  to  me ;  I  had  not 
even  an  introduction  to  him.  Mr.  Buchanan  told 
me  he  would  give  me  one,  but  I  suppose  he  forgot 
to  do  it.     Of  course  you  know  if  it  should  come 


188  DELIA   BACON. 

to  the  worst  I  have  friends  who  would  not  suffer 
me  to  be  indebted  to  the  Consul,  though  I  hope 
not  to  have  to  trouble  them,  and  if  those  men  will 
send  me  the  money  they  owe  me  there  will  be  no 
trouble  at  all. 

I  am  heartily  glad  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
has  safely  returned.  As  for  myself  I  am  unfit  to 
see  any  one.  I  have  given  up  this  world  entirely, 
and  if  I  had  my  choice,  I  don't  know  as  I  should 
ever  see  anyone  again  while  I  live.  Mr.  Campbell 
has  been  here  to  see  me  three  or  four  times  about 
this  business,  and  I  would  much  rather  have  given 
him  twenty  pounds  every  time  he  came  than  to 
have  seen  him,  if  it  had  been  convenient.  And 
he  came  out  of  the  purest  charity.  Still,  if  you 
are  kind  enough  to  look  after  me  when  you  come, 
I  shall  take  it  as  a  very  disinterested  act  of  hu- 
manity, and  will  try  to  look  through  the  grates  of 
my  cell  to  see  you. 

[Hawthorne  to   D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  June  25,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  have  just  received  your 
last  package,  and  will  read  it  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
time,  and  as  nearly  as  possible  in  such  state  of 
mind  as  you  recommend. 

Surely  I  can  say  most  strenuously  that  it  ought 
to  be  published. 

As  regards  your  friends,  let  me  say  frankly  that 
you  shall  not  suffer  from  any  difficultieSj  within  my 


DELIA   BACON.  189 

power  to  obviate.  And  I  will  write  to  a  friend  in 
New  York,  who  used  to  be  connected  with  the 
magazine,  to  see  those  people  and  get  them  to  pay 
what  is  due  you.  As  regards  the  £10  due  General 
Campbell,  I  will  speak  to  him  about  it,  and  make 
myself  responsible ;  so  that  there  need  be  no  deli- 
cacy about  letting  it  stand  for  the  present. 

I  can  entirely  sympathize  with  you  in  your  re- 
luctance ;  none  better  than  I.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  though  I  see  people  by  scores,  every  day,  I 
still  shrink  from  any  interview  of  which  I  am  fore- 
warned ;  and  so,  if  we  can  arrange  all  these  mat- 
ters just  as  well  without  meeting,  I  shall  not  in- 
trude upon  you.     But  I  question  whether  we  can. 

I  leave  Liverpool  for  Southampton  on  Friday, 
and   shall  bring  Mrs.  Hawthorne  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  London  on  the  first  of  July. 
Truly  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

P.  S.  I  enclose  (as,  for  aught  I  know,  you  may 
have  immediate  occasion  for  it)  a  ten  pound  note. 
If  you  acknowledge  the  receipt  before  to-morrow, 
please  to  address  me  here :  if  afterwards,  to  the 
care  of  Bennoch,  Twentyman  &  Co.,  77  Wood 
Street,  Cheapside,  London.     N.  H. 

More  details  of  her  embarrassments  with  the 
American  publishers  come  with  the  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment, next  day,  of   Hawthorne's   unso- 


190  DELTA   BACON. 

licited  and  "  thoughtful  kindness/*  which  had 
brought  to  her  a  rehef  evidently  not  easy  fully  to 
express ;  and  then  she  adverts  thus  to  the  visit 
which  she  hoped  for,  yet  with  a  certain  dread : 

"  When  you  come  to  establish  Mrs.  Hawthorne 
here,  or  whenever  you  find  it  convenient  to  do 
so,  I  hope  you  will  call  upon  me.  The  reason  I 
shrink  from  seeing  any  one  now  is,  that  I  used  to 
be  somebody,  and  whenever  I  meet  a  stranger  I 
am  troubled  with  a  dim  reminiscence  of  the  fact, 
whereas  now  I  am  nothing  but  this  work,  and  don't 
wish  to  be.  I  would  rather  be  this  than  anything 
else.  I  have  lived  for  three  years  as  much  alone 
with  God  and  the  dead  as  if  I  had  been  a  departed 
spirit.  And  I  don't  wish  to  return  to  the  world.  I 
shrink  with  horror  from  the  thought  of  it.  This 
is  an  abnormal  state,  you  see,  but  I  am  perfectly 
harmless,  and  if  you  will  let  me  know  when  you 
are  coming  I  will  put  on  one  of  the  dresses  I  used 
to  wear  the  last  time  I  made  my  appearance  in  the 
world,  and  try  to  look  as  much  like  a  survivor  as 
the  circumstances  will  permit. 

'*  Truly  yours, 

"Delia  Bacon." 

At  some  time  after  the  writing  of  this,  and  be- 
fore the  next  letter  to  Hawthorne  was  written, 
there  came  upon  her,  in  the  following  letter  from 
Emerson,  a  blow  which  would  have  been  enough 
to  break  down  a  mind  of  less  original  strength  than 


DELIA   BACON.  191 

hers,  after  the  body  which  enclosed  it  had  been  so 
enfeebled  by  toil  and  privation  and  disappoint- 
ment. For  many  months  she  had  subsisted  upon 
the  hopcj  which  amounted  to  an  assurance,  of  some 
return  from  the  successive  packets  of  manuscript 
sent  to  Emerson  for  the  magazine,  prepared  in- 
deed with  exhausting  midnight  labor,  upon  some- 
thing like  an  express  requisition  for  it.  It  was 
grievous  enough  to  learn  now  that  all  hope  of 
publication  in  America,  either  in  serial  or  in  book 
form,  had  definitively  failed.  With  that  came  also 
the  news  of  the  heedless  loss  of  the  manuscript 
itself,  into  which,  even  if  it  had  no  other  value, 
she  had  poured  such  a  flood  of  her  own  life,  as 
almost  to  have  exhausted  its  source. 
This  is  the  letter  that  told  the  story : 

Concord,  23  June,  1856. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  am  heartily  sorry 
that  after  so  long  a  space  I  should  not  be  able  to 
send  you  some  good  news.  But  this  time  none  at 
all,  and  indeed  much  worse  than  no  good  news, 
namely,  the  most  vexatious.  There  is  nothing  for 
it  but  the  kind  of  earnest  that  many  serious  draw- 
backs and  disasters  give  to  the  brave  and  well- 
deserving,  of  new  and  better  turns  that  must  be- 
fall. On  my  going  west  in  December  I  left  the 
three  (?)  MSS.  chapters  with  my  wife.  Putnam 
already  had  the  first.  As  I  had  dissuaded  the 
printing  in  the  magazine,  they  were  not  to  have 


192  DELIA   BACON. 

the  rest  without  your  express  advice.  They 
printed  the  first,  and  then  sent  to  my  brother 
W.  E.,  in  New  York,  demanding  the  rest  to  go  on 
at  once.  He  sent  to  my  wife  for  it,  and  she  sup- 
posing that  this  was  the  contingency  I  had  told 
her  of  sent  the  three  (?)  chapters.  After  reading 
them,  they  refused  to  go  on,  and  returned  them 
to  W.  E.  Lately,  on  receiving  your  letter  of  May, 
I  received  soon  afterwards  what  MSS.  you  sent  in 
May  to  Dix  &  Edwards  from  them,  with  word  that 
they  did  not  find  them  suited  to  their  purpose. 
Then  I  WTote  to  W.  E.  to  restore  the  three  (?) 
chapters.  He  wrote  me  back  that  he  was  pained 
to  say  that  they  were  lost.  Just  before  my  letter 
came,  he  had  given  them  to  Sophy  Ripley,  who  was 
coming  home  to  Concord  via  Springfield,  to  bring 
to  me.  Miss  Ripley  had  been  on  a  visit  at  his 
house  in  Staten  Island  for  a  day  or  two ;  her  trunk 
was  in  New  York  city.  She  took  the  sealed  parcel 
in  her  hands,  and  came  down  to  the  Staten  Island 
ferry  with  my  brother  in  his  carriage,  one  and  a 
half  miles,  and  just  before  reaching  the  boat  per- 
ceived that  she  had  not  the  parcel.  W.  E.  was 
needed  at  his  office  in  New  York ;  he  sent  back  the 
driver  instantly  from  the  boat  to  find  the  parcel, 
informed  the  collector  at  the  boat  office,  and  ad- 
vertised it,  with  a  reward,  at  once ;  the  chances 
seemed  all  for  recovering  it  at  once,  but  it  has 
never  appeared !  Sophy  Ripley  has  returned 
home,  and  dared  not  come  to  see  me  until  her 


DELIA    BACON.  193 

mother  Mrs.  Ripley  had  come  to  tell  me  her  con- 
sternation. They  inquire  first  of  all  if  you  have  a 
duplicate  ?  of  which  I  am  not  sure.  I  assure  you, 
all  the  parties  to  this  misfortune  are  very  misera- 
ble at  present.  I  wish  I  could  relieve  this  disaster 
with  some  better  face  of  the  whole  affair.  "But  it 
does  not  yet  show  its  best  side.  I  could  not  carry 
the  MSS.  if  I  had  them  thus  far  complete  to  Phil- 
lips &  Sampson  (or  to  another  publisher)  and  ask 
as  favorable  terms  as  they  had  offered  me  at  first, 
for  the  eclat,  and  what  publishers  would  esteem 
the  promise  of  the  work,  was  seriously  diminished 
by  Putnam's  publishing  and  then  rejecting.  That 
is  a  damage  which  one  would  say  can  only  be  prop- 
erly met  and  overcome  by  publishing  the  book  at 
your  own  risk,  in  its  mature  form. 

I  have  now  been  trying  to  read  the  papers  sent 
to  me  by  Dix  &  Edwards,  and  which  they  decline 
to  print.  It  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  read  them, 
so  small  and  crowded  is  the  writing,  and  so  much 
interlined  and  corrected.  My  eyes  are  very  failing 
servants  in  these  days,  and  with  glasses  I  do  not 
much  help  them.  I  have  set  my  daughter  and 
my  wife  also  to  help  me,  and  at  last  I  have  mainly 
surmounted  the  difficulty.  I  hesitate  a  little  to 
say  that  I  think  the  magazine  men  judged  rightly 
in  asking  still  another  form.  The  moment  your 
proposition  is  stated  that  Shakspeare  was  only  a 
player,  whom  certain  superior  person  or  persons 
could  use,  and  did  use,  as  a  mouthpiece  for  their 


194  DELIA   BACON. 

poetry  it  is  perfectly  understood.  It  does  not  need 
to  be  stated  twice.  The  proposition  is  immensely 
improbable,  and  against  the  single  testimony  of 
Ben  Jonson,  "  For  I  loved  the  man,  and  do  honor 
his  memory  on  this  side  idolatry  as  much  as  any," 
cannot  stand.  Ben  Jonson  must  be  answered,  first. 
Of  course  w^e  instantly  require  your  proofs.  But 
instead  of  hastening  to  these,  you  expatiate  on  the 
absurdity  of  the  accepted  biography.  Perfectly 
right  to  say  once,  but  not  necessary  to  say  twice, 
and  unpardonable  after  telling  us  that  you  have 
proof  that  this  is  not  the  man,  and  we  are  waiting 
for  that  proof,  to  say  it  thrice.  There  is  great  in- 
cidental worth  in  these  expatiatings ;  but  it  is  all 
at  disadvantage  because  we  have  been  summoned 
to  hear  an  extraordinary  aimouncement  of  facts, 
and  are  impatient  of  any  episodes.  I  am  sure  you 
cannot  be  aware  how  voluminously  you  have 
cuffed  and  pounded  the  poor  pretender,  and  then 
again,  and  still  again,  and  no  end.  I  think  too 
(but  this  I  say  with  less  assurance)  that  you  lean 
much  harder  than  they  can  bear  on  many  passages 
you  cite  from  the  plays,  as  if  they  contained  very 
pointed  allusions  which  admitted  of  only  one 
application. 

Once  more,  I  am  a  little  shocked  by  the  signa- 
ture "  Discoverer  of  the  Authorship  of  Shaks- 
peare's  Plays,"  which  should  not  be  used  one  mo- 
ment in  advance.  Yes,  and  welcome,  and  forever- 
more,  wear  the  crow^n,  from  the  instant  your  fact 


DELIA   BACON.  195 

is  made  to  appear,  not  before.  Certain  great  mer- 
its which  appeared  in  your  first  papers  mark  these 
last  also,  —  a  healthy  perception,  and  natural  rec- 
titude, which  give  immense  advantage  in  criticism, 
where  they  are  so  rare.  The  account  of  English- 
men, and  what  is  servile  in  them,  and  the  prophetic 
American  relations  of  this  poetry,  struck  me  much, 
and  your  steadfast  loyalty  to  cause  and  effect,  in 
mental  history. 

What  practically  should  be  or  can  be  done,  I 
cannot  see  to-day.  There  is  no  publisher,  because 
there  is  not  yet  the  ready  book.  If  you  are  to 
be  anticipated,  I  think  you  should  write  a  short 
letter  announcing  exactly  your  propositions,  the 
points  you  are  prepared  to  prove,  send  it  to  Fraser, 
or  any  other  English  journal,  though  it  were  the 
lowest  that  will  print  it ;  print  it  also  in  '^  Put- 
nam," or  the  "Tribune,"  or  the  ^^ Crayon,"  here; 
and  then  publish  your  book  containing  the  full 
exposition,  whenever  you  can  have  it  ready.  I 
have  been  a  much  worse  agent  lately  than  you 
might  have  found  me  earlier,  —  though  never  a 
good  one,  —  but  worse  now  through  many  causes 
wear}^  to  tell  of,  —  perhaps  another  year  will  set 
me  on  my  feet  again,  and  then ! 
With  entire  respect, 

Yours, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Miss  Bacon. 


196  DELIA   BACON. 

Perhaps  it  was  Hawthorne's  good  fortune  which 
kept  him  unwell  at  Blackheath  in  the  days  when 
this  distress  was  fresh  upon  his  correspondent,  and 
saved  thus  his  tender  and  sympathetic  soul  from 
the  direct  communication  of  her  grief.  It  came  to 
him  in  writing,  however,  soon  enough,  and  with 
more  than  sufficient  amplitude,  following  close 
upon  this  note  inviting  it,  but  hardly,  it  may  be 
surmised,  inviting  all  that  came. 

[Hawthorne   to   D.   B.] 

Blackheath,  July  17, '56. 

Deae  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  very  much  regret  that 
I  cannot  call  on  you  to-day,  according  to  agree- 
ment ;  but  I  am  not  well,  and  do  not  feel  it  safe 
to  venture  out. 

I  have  seen  General  Campbell,  and  made  myself 
responsible  for  the  balance  of  the  debt. 

I  must  go  to  Liverpool  on  Monday,  to  remain 
there  about  a  week  —  perhaps  ten  days.  In  the 
interim,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  write  me,  and 
tell  me  what  you  would  like  to  have  done  in  ref- 
erence to  the  publication  of  the  work.  I  cannot 
but  think  that  it  may  be  effected  on  terms  advan- 
tageous to  yourself.  I  think  I  had  better  write  to 
Emerson,  by  next  steamer,  and  get  him  to  see 
what  arrangements  can  be  made. 

As  soon  as  I  return  from  Liverpool,  I  will  call. 
Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 


DELIA   BACON.  1D7 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

12  Spring  St.,  Sussex  Gardens, 
H.  Park,  July. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  was  very  much  dis- 
appointed at  not  seeing  you  on  Saturday,  and  if  I 
had  known  how  to  have  addressed  you  in  time 
would  have  entreated  you  not  to  return  to  Liver- 
pool without  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  you. 

For  your  assurance  in  regard  to  my  work, 
strengthened  as  it  is  with  the  approbation  of  the 
lady  to  whom  you  give  so  illustrious  a  title,  I 
could  not  properly  thank  you  by  word  of  mouth 
or  pen,  and  so  I  will  not  attempt  it.  I  believe  you 
two  are  the  first  readers  of  those  last  papers. 
They  have  been  out  of  my  hands  once.  But  they 
were  returned  to  me  with  an  accidental  proof  that 
they  had  not  been  read.  The  first  was  perhaps 
looked  into  a  little  at  another  place  where  it 
went  by  itself  as  it  went  to  you.  You  shall  have 
all  the  details  as  to  what  has  been  done.  But  I  do 
not  think  that  the  book  has  had  any  trial  at  all. 
The  theory  as  announced  beforehand  is  as  you  will 
readily  believe  not  a  pleasant  one  to  the  conserva- 
tive mind  here,  and  the  publishers  who  cater  for 
that  are  so  frightened  at  the  suggestion,  that  they 
hush  it  up  as  quick  as  possible,  and  try  to  forget 
that  it  has  ever  been  mentioned  to  them.  But 
the  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  I  am  disposed  to 
make   another  effort  to  get  it  published  here,  as 


198  DELIA   BACON. 

the  articles  for  the  Magazine  written  after  I  aban- 
doned that  idea  are  not  published  and  I  can  keep 
them  back  now  if  I  choose.  .  .  . 

I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Emerson  since  I 
wrote  you  last,  but  it  is  the  least  pleasant  one  I 
have  received  from  him.  He  appears  to  be  dis- 
heartened at  the  course  the  thing  has  taken  there, 
which  it  need  not  have  taken  if  there  had  been 
anybody  there  to  act  for  me,  and  I  do  not  think 
that  he  likes  the  work  as  well  as  he  expected  to, 
and  I  ought  not  to  be  surprised  at  that,  for  if  I 
had  known  what  it  was  myself  I  should  not  have 
taken  it  to  him  any  more  than  I  would  have  taken 
it  to  my  brother,  who  is  a  Doctor  of  Divinity.  It 
would  have  been  equally  improper  for  me  to  do 
so.  And  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,  since  the  mo- 
tion proceeds  from  himself,  that  he  should  let  it 
go  now.  "  Transcendentalism  "  is  the  fatal  word 
which  I  hear  pronounced  (by  people  who  are  not 
perhaps  quite  clear  as  to  what  that  definition 
covers)  w^ien  our  two  principal  philosophers  are 
named.  But  there  is  nothing,  and  there  never  has 
been  anything  in  this  world  since  time  began,  so 
antagonistic  to  that  very  thing  which  the  people 
mean  when  they  use  that  word  as  this  philosophy, 
and  it  is  not  right  to  cast  on  it  beforehand,  while 
it  has  no  name  of  its  own,  that  shadow.  The 
truth  which  that  so-called  philosophy  of  theirs 
contains  is  here  also  comprehended  in  this,  but  it 
is  here  in  its  place.    I  went  to  those  two  men  with 


DELTA    BACON.  199 

it,  because  they  professed  philosophy,  and  though 
I  knew  tliat  my  discovery  contradicted  in  the  most 
direct  manner  their  own  pubUshed  views  on  this 
particular  question  of  the  Plays,  I  thought  them 
magnanimous  enough  to  disregard  that  fact  en- 
tirely, and  I  found  them  so.  But  it  is  another 
thing  to  ask  them  to  let  me  bring  the  world  up  to 
a  summit  of  knowledge  which  I  have  accidentally 
discovered  here,  already  built,  with  the  road  all 
open  up  to  the  very  top,  from  which  their  domain 
is  all  overlooked,  and  the  whole  zig-zag  of  its 
boundary  defined.  They  are  men  of  genius,  but 
they  lack  the  genius  of  the  new  logic,  which  is 
only  the  stronger  expression  of  the  genius  of  the 
Moderns,  and  the  world  reproves  them  for  it. 
Carlyle  treated  me  with  an  extraordinary  personal 
kindness,  and  so  did  his  wife,  and  it  is  my  own 
fault  that  I  have  not  continued  my  acquaintance 
with  them,  but  Mr.  Emerson  is  a  flio;ht  hitj-her  than 
that.  He  has  mastered  an  intellectual  heig;:ht,  from 
which  he  looks  down  on  the  human  sensibilities. 
He  has  the  advantage  of  me  in  that  respect.  I 
cannot  write  to  a  man  as  I  would  to  a  gale  of  wind 
exactly,  and  though  I  know  what  his  theory  is, 
and  that  he  talks  of  the  ethical  principle  as  he 
does  of  a  good  ear  in  music,  after  all  I  am  taken 
a  little  by  surprise,  when  he  comes  to  give  me  a 
direct  practical  vindication  of  his  views.  He  never 
pretended  to  any  personal  kindness  for  me,  the 
idea  of   my   work  has   always  stood    on  its  own 


200  DELIA   BACON. 

merits  with  him  entirely,  and  the  way  in  which  he 
disposes  of  that,  and  me,  and  my  worldly  affairs 
in  his  last  letter  is,  as  they  say  in  the  West,  "  a 
caution,"  He  begins  by  giving  me  the  very  pretty 
piece  of  information  that  tliree  very  important 
chapters  of  the  work  are  lost,  tumbled  out  of  a 
carriage  months  ago,  when  some  lady  was  carrying 
them  in  her  hand,  and  never  heard  of  since,  and 
for  that  he  does  express  a  strong  sense  of  human 
regret,  as  they  were  lost  after  they  were  returned 
to  his  brother's  custody  by  those  Magazine  men. 
But  I  don't  consider  the  persons  who  lost  them  in 
the  least  to  blame.  After  they  were  taken  out  of 
his  hands,  the  Publishers  of  the  Magazine  were  re- 
sponsible to  me  for  them,  and  had  no  right  to  send 
them  on  that  journey.  And  this  reminds  me  to 
beg  3'ou  to  be  more  than  usually  careful,  for  T 
have  no  duplicates  of  these  papers  that  I  send  to 
you,  and  that  was  the  reason  that  I  would  not  send 
them  across  the  water,  and  now  that  I  am  re- 
minded of  the  dangers  of  the  land  by  this  acci- 
dent, I  know  you  will  forgive  me  for  this  caution. 
For  there  seems  to  be  a  special  antagonism  at  work 
here.  These  are  not  the  first  of  my  papers  that 
have  been  destroyed.  Before  I  came  here,  I  wrote 
something  on  the  subject  which  was  received  with 
great  approbation.  Mr.  Emerson  said  in  writing 
that  he  had  "  seen  nothing  in  the  United  States  in 
the  way  of  literary  criticism  which  he  thought  so 
good,"  but  a  black  waiter  finding  it  one  day  in  his 


DELIA   BACON.  201 

department  and  looking  it  over  from  his  stand- 
point, could  see  nothing  in  it  to  the  purpose,  and 
threw  it  into  the  fire.  And  that  was  when  it  was 
in  my  own  keeping. 

I  have  had  a  letter  from  the  sister,  who  is  my 
chief  earthly  reliance  now.  She  thinks  that  my 
work  has  failed  I  believe,  poor  child,  and  she 
knows  that  I  object  to  receiving  aid  from  my 
brother,  though  she  does  not  fully  know  ichy.  .  .  . 
She  says  she  wishes  she  could  send  me  immedi- 
ately a  hundred  pounds,  but  she  cannot  except  on 
one  condition,  but  that  her  husband  and  my  brother 
will  immediately  send  whatever  I  require  for  my 
bills  here,  and  my  journey  home,  if  I  will  promise 
to  come  as  soon  as  I  have  received  it.  And  she 
requires  in  the  most  urgent  manner  that  I  shall 
send  her  that  answer  by  the  next  steamer.  I 
would  die  here  before  I  would  give  her  any  such 
promise,  but  I  have  put  in  this  otherwise  imperti- 
nent passage,  that  you  may  see  exactly  what  my 
position  is  at  this  moment.  My  friends  think  that 
I  am  wasting  my  life  here  to  no  purpose.  And 
they  think  from  the  account  T  gave  to  my  sister  of 
my  present  difficulties  that  they  have  now  an  op- 
portunity of  speaking  with  authority  and  compel- 
ling me  to  come  home.  But  I  will  open  a  "cent 
shop  "  in  my  House  of  Seven  Gables  first.  There 
is  not  anything  which  is  honest  that  I  will  not  do 
rather  than  put  the  Atlantic  Ocean  between  me 
and  what  I  came  to  find.    I  would  infinitely  rather 


202  DELTA   BACON. 

never  go  back  than  do  that.  It  is  a  moral  im- 
possibility. I  could  no  more  do  it  than  I  could  kill 
myself.  It  gives  me  a  sense  of  suffocation  to  try 
to  think  of  it.  It  would  be  an  impossible  crime. 
I  am  sure  that  my  Friar  Francis,  if  I  can  find  his 
cell,  will  be  able  to  give  me  some  better  advice 
than  that.  .  .  . 

So  you  see  my  case  is  given  up  by  that  Physi- 
cian. I  called  you  in  for  a  consultation.  But  he 
had  pronounced  on  it  before  you  came,  and  had 
gone,  so  that  alters  your  position  a  little.  I  have 
been  all  these  three  years  writing  to  somebody 
that  was  not  there  to  get  my  letters,  and  the  fact 
is  I  begin  to  think  that  the  person  I  wish  to  speak 
to  so  much  is  not  anywhere  except  in  my  own 
mind,  and  in  these  books,  or  I  should  have  been 
apt  to  think  that,  if  the  hand  that  brought  that 
letter  had  not  had  yours  in  it  of  the  10th.  Don't 
tell  me  that  you  were  not  inspired  to  write  that, 
for  I  know  you  were.  I  could  not  have  got  through 
with  that  letter  of  Mr.  Emerson's  if  yours  had  had 
any  shade  less  of  goodness  in  it.  It  took  Mrs. 
Hawthorne's  word  of  assurance  and  all  to  help  me 
through  it.  As  it  was  it  made  me  very  ill,  and  I 
have  not  recovered  from  it.  .  .  . 

I  have  thought  it  right  to  tell  you  all  this,  be- 
cause I  have  a  feeling  that  the  facts  make  the  best 
basis  after  all  for  any  proceeding.  But  I  begin  to 
think  if  I  had  a  little  more  of  the  art  in  which 
these  men  whose  school  I  am  in  were  such  adepts, 


DELIA   BACON.  203 

I  should  manage  this  affair  of  theirs  rather  better. 
All  this  is  calculated  to  annoy  and  discourage  you, 
but  n\y  feeling  is  that  your  judgments  are  not 
very  easily  biased  by  extraneous  influences.  But 
perhaps  we  are  none  of  us  altogether  independent 
of  them.  I  don't  know  as  I  could  have  been  true 
to  my  own  work,  if  it  had  come  back  to  me  as  it 
came  to  Mr.  Emerson  in  the  first  place,  with  the 
brand  of  that  rejection  on  it.  And  the  badness  of 
the  manuscript  and  the  weakness  of  his  eyes  and 
the  vexatious  loss  of  those  papers,  and  the  whole 
series  of  untoward  circumstances,  and  the  feehng 
that  the  eclat  of  the  work  was  lost,  helped  I  have 
no  doubt  a  little  in  the  summing  up  of  the  ques- 
tion. Besides  he  has  never  seen  the  book,  he  has 
only  my  word  for  it  that  there  is  one,  and  he  has 
evidently  made  up  his  mind  that  I  am  laboring 
under  an  hallucination  in  respect  to  its  existence. 
He  has  seen  only  the  outside  of  the  preliminary 
chapters  —  one  of  them  he  says  he  read  and  ap- 
proved. Under  these  circumstances  I  don't  con- 
sider his  decision  a  final  one.  I  think  too  he  may 
have  felt  unconsciously  perhaps  the  antagonism  of 
this  philosophy,  of  which  there  has  been  no  hint 
before  in  what  I  have  written,  and  of 'which  I  am 
not  the  author.  He  censures  the  boldness  of  my 
claims,  and  evidently  prefers  to  have  the  evidence 
in  the  form  of  direct  historical  testimony,  and  says 
that  Ben  Jonson  must  be  answered  first,  whereas 
he  won't  be  answered  till  there  is  no  occasion  to 


204  DELIA   BACON. 

answer  him.  I  know  all  about  Ben  Jonson.  He 
has  two  patrons  besides  "  Shakspeare."  One  was 
Raleigh,  the  other  was  Bacon.  The  author  of  these 
Plays  and  Poems  was  his  Patron.  It  would  not 
have  been  strang;e  if  he  had  loved  and  honored 
his  memory  on  this  side  idolatry  as  much  as  any. 
But  Lord  Bacon  was  a  man  of  art,  and  he  was 
much  in  the  habit  of  writing  letters  for  other  peo- 
ple, in  which  he  could  say  some  things  to  the  pur- 
pose which  he  could  not  say  as  well  over  his  own 
name.  The  fact  that  he  was  not  too  scrupulous  to 
employ  such  arts  was  betrayed  on  the  trial  of  Es- 
sex. That  was  not  the  only  time  that  Mr.  Anthony 
Bacon's  name  was  used  to  accomplish  Mr.  Francis 
Bacon's  ends.  It  was  very  much  used  I  find. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  correspondence  that 
went  on  in  that  person's  name,  which  might  not 
have  prospered^  so  well  in  the  name  of  his  brother. 
And  it  was  not  dialogues  on  the  stage  only  that 
the  myriad-minded  resorted  to,  to  accomplish  his 
ends.  Letters  written  in  the  names  of  various  in- 
dividuals, which  were  not  published  at  the  time, 
but  reserved  for  future  publication,  because  they 
related  to  recent  matters  of  state,  fictitious  letters, 
form  a  very  important  part  of  this  author's  works, 
to  which  he  takes  great  pains  to  refer  those  who 
care  to  know  more  about  him. 

As  to  what  is  to  be  done,  please  to  look  over  — 
read  as  well  as  you  can  in  this  poor  form,  making 
due  allowance  for  it,  —  this  play  of  "  The  Consul- 


DELIA    BACON.  205 

ship."  It  is  Lord  Bacon's  as  much  as  "  The  Scar- 
let Letter"  is  yours.  No,  I  will  not  say  that. 
These  plays  passed  through  the  hands  of  more 
persons  than  one.  But  the  Chancellor  claims  this 
one.  I  have  seen  what  he  says  about  it.  My  in- 
terpretation is  approved.  Do  not  read  it  thinking 
there  is  no  other  proof,  but  merely  to  see,  whether, 
as  it  stands  there  with  those  other  parts  of  the 
work  that  you  have,  and  some  preliminary  state- 
ments, it  will  make  a  book  that  can  perhaps  be 
published  here.  If  that  feat  can  be  accomplished, 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  the  other  side. 
What  I  wish  to  know  is  whether  you  think  it 
would  be  possible  to  get  it  published  here  without 
waiting  for  that  further  confirmation  that  I  speak 
of,  which  I  speak  of  as  assuredly  as  anything 
which  has  been  subjected  to  the  contingency  of  a 
trust  can  be  spoken  of.  If  you  could  give  me  a 
title  to  it,  and  write  a  few  lines  of  Introduction,  I 
think  you  could  make  it  successful.  I  would  like 
to  have  it  published  without  my  name,  and  I  would 
like  to  have  you  introduce  it  to  the  public,  saying 
just  what  you  are  willing  to  say  to  the  public  about 
it,  and  no  more.  Just  keep  the  position  that  you 
have  already  taken  in  reference  to  it.  Merely  say 
that  it  is  a  book  that  has  claims  of  its  own,  and  is 
entitled  to  be  read.  Give  to  the  anonymous  author 
the  authorship  of  this  new  Baconian  philosophy 
and  the  invention  of  this  new  Shakspeare,  if  you 
choose.     If  it  is  an  invention,  I  insist  upon  it,  it  is 


206  DELIA   BACON. 

a  very  fine  one,  but  it  would  be  dishonest  in  me  to 
take  the  credit  of  it.  Suppose  I  was  dead  and  you 
had  this  Romance  in  your  hands,  the  boldest  one 
that  was  ever  invented,  what  would  you  do  with 
it?  (Call  it  a  Romance  if  you  choose,  till  I  can 
prove  it.)  You  find  it  given  over,  —  perishing  by 
inches,  for  want  of  a  printer,  for  want  of  a  reader, 
three  chapters  of  it  given  to  the  winds  by  those  to 
whom  I  sent  it  to  read  and  to  print.  If  you  can 
save  it,  and  any  good  comes  of  it,  the  world  will 
owe  it  to  you.  You  have  done  more  for  it  already 
in  the  weeks  that  you  have  had  it,  with  all  the 
cares  of  your  Consulship  upon  you,  and  those  par- 
ticular urgent  cares  which  your  arrangements  for 
Mrs.  Hawthorne's  residence  here  devolved  upon 
you,  than  others  have  done  in  years.  You  have 
done  what  nobody  else  has  done  for  it  before. 
You  have  read  it,  as  much  of  it  as  you  had  to  read. 
The  chapters  I  took  so  much  pains  to  send  to 
America,  for  the  purpose  of  having  them  read? 
have  not  been  read  yet  by  any  one  who  knew 
enough  to  know  what  the  letters  stood  for,  and 
never  will  be  now.  They  were  sent  on  the  1st  of 
November,  and  when  they  were  inquired  for  in 
June,  the  news  was  that  they  were  lost.  Mr.  Emer- 
son talks  about  "  the  ready  book."  It  is  well  it 
was  not  ready  for  the  kind  of  fate  that  awaited 
those  avant  couriers  of  it.  Mr.  Emerson  is  no 
more  to  blame  for  the  loss  of  those  papers  than  I 
am,  but  I  should  have  been  glad  if  somebody  could 


DELIA    BACON.  207 

have  read  them  before  they  were  destroyed  besides 
that  goose  of  an  editor,  who  can  say  what  he  likes 
about  them  now,  imcontradicted.  The  reason  I 
did  not  send  any  more  was,  there  was  nobody 
there  to  take  them.  I  sent  many  appeals  out  in 
the  name  of  that  which  is  most  commanding  with 
men  ;  but  one  had  gone  to  his  farm,  and  another 
to  his  merchandise,  and  another  had  married  a  wife 
and  could  not  come.  But  you  had  married  one, 
happily,  who  was  able  to  come  with  you.  I  know 
how  much  I  owe  to  that  "  better  self  "  of  yours, 
who  ought  to  be  very  good  to  deserve  that  title. 
I  am  thankful  that  there  was  one  there  who  was 
ready  to  help,  instead  of  hindering  you,  not  in  your 
toil  through  the  manuscripts  only,  but  in  your 
detection  of  what  was  worth  saving  under  that 
disguise.  I  don't  like  to  see  people,  or  I  would  go 
and  see  her.  My  personal  history  is  concluded  ; 
there  has  been  enough  of  it  and  to  spare.  I  have 
had  my  share  of  the  good  things  of  this  life,  and 
I  have  been  ready  to  go  this  some  time.  I  only 
wait  to  finish  this  work.  Mr.  Emerson  talks  about 
my  "  wearing  the  crown,"  he  says,  "  yes,  wear  it 
and  welcome  and  forevermore,  from  the  instant 
your  fact  is  made  to  appear  ;  "  but  he  recommends 
that  I  should  not  put  it  on  prematurely.  He  was 
quarreling  with  my  assuming  the  title  of  a  Discov- 
erer in  those  anonymous  articles.  I  thought  there 
was  no  honor  in  claiming  that  title  now,  unless 
it  is  an  honor  to  rush  on  the  drawn  swords  of  the 


208  DELIA   BACON. 

world.  I  meant  it  for  a  challenge.  I  have  to  be- 
gin with  an  unspeakable  audacity.  That  is  a  part 
of  the  play.  Does  anyone  think  that  I  am  not 
conscious  of  the  position  ?  Mr.  Emerson  has  never 
been  taught,  as  I  have,  what  the  human  appro- 
bation amounts  to.  If  I  thought  I  had  a  right 
to  do  it,  I  would  take  this  discovery  to  my  grave 
with  me.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  all  my  duties  of 
one  kind  and  another  reconciled  and  fulfilled,  I 
shall  ask  leave  to  retire  from  this  scene  for  the 
present,  and  shall  hope  to  return  again  when  it  is 
in  better  order. 

In  the  first  place  I  am  going  to  write  immedi- 
ately to  my  sister,  perhaps  to  my  brother  D.  D.,  to 
say  that  I  lose  my  copyright  here  by  coming  home 
now,  and  that  it  will  be  eventually  valuable,  and 
that  as  my  living  here  is  hardly  more  expensive 
than  it  would  be  in  America,  as  far  as  they  are 
concerned  in  that  particular,  it  is  better  for  me  to 
stay  here,  till  I  am  ready  to  help  myself,  than  to 
come  home. 

And  in  the  second  place,  I  will  write  to  the  Edi- 
tors of  the  Magazine,  and  tell  them  to  send  me 
immediately,  without  any  demur  at  all,  the  three 
hundred  dollars  due  for  the  articles  which  they 
engaged  to  print,  and  which  they  caused  to  be  lost 
instead.  I  will  do  it  for  the  benefit  of  any  poor 
authors  who  may  happen  to  be  at  their  mercy 
hereafter,  as  they  thought  I  was.  The  loss  of 
those  papers  through  their  means,  appears  to  me 


DELIA   BACON.  209 

to  introduce  a  new  element  into  the  question,  and 
they  shall  answer  for  them  :  —  that  is,  if  I  am  not 
advised  to  the  contrary.  I  do  not  like  to  receive 
any  money  from  them,  as  they  derived  no  advan- 
tage from  the  papers,  but  it  is  better  that  they 
should  pay  it  to  me,  than  that  I  should  owe  it  to 
others  in  consequence  of  their  deliberately  destroy- 
ing the  provision  I  had  made  for  my  living  here. 
They  knew  about  that  contract  with  the  Boston 
Publishers,  and  that  I  was  dependent  on  it,  or 
another  as  good,  and  that  I  had  relinquished  it  to 
fulfill  my  engagement  with  them,  and  they  might 
at  least  have  answered  my  letters. 

I  am  thinking  a  little  of  asking  my  brother  to 
get  me  a  publisher  in  America.  He  does  not  know 
at  all  what  the  work  is.  I  did  not  know,  when  I 
came  here.  My  sister  says  that  he  thinks  the  book 
will  be  read,  whether  it  is  a  Discovery  or  not.  He 
is  the  first  person  I  spoke  to  about  my  Discovery 
of  the  philosophy,  which  was  eleven  or  twelve 
years  ago,  and  he  said  "  Go  on  with  it,"  not  know- 
ing what  he  said.  But  he  is  a  good  man,  though 
he  has  had  a  bad  education  and  he  is  in  bad  com- 
pany. I  have  been  very  careful  not  to  connect 
him  with  it  at  all  of  late,  because  his  obligations 
are  different  from  mine.  He  said  to  me  in  his  last 
letter,  "  Your  *  Philosophy  of  Shakespeare '  will 
have  readers,  I  dare  say."  It  is  death  to  be 
charged  with  being  ^'  liberal "  in  his  church,  and 
those  who  watch  for  his  halting  in  this  respect 


210  DELIA    BACON. 

would  be  glad  to  make  him.  responsible  for  this 
book,  I  know. 

I  think  you  will  conclude  not  to  write  to  Mr. 
Emerson.  I  have  written  a  letter  which  passed  his 
on  the  way,  and  I  shall  probably  hear  from  him 
no-ain.  You  will  not  be  able  to  do  more  than  read 
this  in  the  ten  days  that  yoa  are  at  Liverpool,  and 
I  will  not  send  you  my  tragedy,  though  it  has  been 
sealed  and  directed  these  many  days,  until  I  have 
your  orders.  /  do  very  much  rely  on  that,  because 
it  is  full  of  science.  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  pos- 
sible ever  to  shut  it  up  again  after  it  has  once  been 
opened.  You  need  not  reprove  me  for  this  letter 
and  tell  me  how  many  pages  there  are  of  it.  I 
know,  and  I  am  reproving  myself.  It  is  not  the 
business  of  the  Consulship  that  I  care  for  inter- 
rupting, because  this  is  the  Consulship  that  we 
talk  of.  But  how  do  I  know  what  mystic  and 
delicate  processes  I  am  disturbing  and  what  new 
and  beautiful  work  of  art,  destined  to  be  a  joy 
forever,  is  getting  hindered  with  it. 

Fresh  from  such  an  impressive  lesson  in  chirog- 
raphy,  I  ought  not  to  make  such  work  as  this,  but 
you  will  forgive  it  I  hope,  and  I  will  promise  not 
to  trouble  you  in  this  way  again. 

Truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

T  have  been  thinking  hard  whether  to  burn  this 
up  or  to  send  it.     I  have  had  the  weakness  which 


DELIA   BACON.  211 

results  from  a  severe  attack  of  neuralgia  to  strug- 
gle with  in  the  writing  of  it,  or  it  would  not  have 
been  so  long.  You  asked  me  what  I  wished  you 
to  do.  I  will  answer  you  as  Mr.  Emerson  has 
answered  me.  I  wish  you  to  get  the  book  pub- 
lished by  somebody  or  other  on  this  side  of  the 
water  or  that,  that  is  if  you  continue  to  think  it  is 
lit  to  be  published,  when  you  have  heard  this  story 
of  the  rejection  of  it  without  a  reading,  and  be- 
sides that  I  wish  you  to  hear  what  else  I  have  to 
say,  for  it  is  very  important.  I  want  you  to  take 
charge  of  this  work,  in  case  anything  happens  to 
me,  and  act  as  you  see  fit  in  reference  to  it,  sup- 
press it  or  publish  it,  as  your  judgment  and  con- 
science shall  guide  you.  It  is  not  good  for  any- 
thing except  as  a  beginning.  D.  Bacon. 

[Hawthorne  to   D.   B.] 

Liverpool,  July  21,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  BACoisr,  —  I  do  not  see  any  use  in 
writing  to  Mr.  Emerson  ;  in  fact,  I  always  won- 
dered at  finding  him  in  the  position  which  he  has 
hitherto  held,  in  respect  to  your  work.  I  heartily 
wish  (on  your  own  account)  that  you  had  a  better 
alternative  than  m3\self  ;  but  I  shall  do  what  I  can, 
and  as  well  as  I  know  how. 

It  seems  to  me  improbable  that  John  Murray 
will  be  induced  to  undertake  the  publication  of  a 
book  like  this.  However,  if  you  judge  it  impor- 
tant, I  will  endeavor  to  have  the  MS.  presented  to 


212  DELIA   BACON. 

him  under  good  auspices — those,  for  instance,  of 
some  respectable  English  man  of  letters.  My  own 
word  would  not  be  worth  a  farthing  with  him. 

If  the  book  were  my  own,  I  should  not  care  who 
published  it,  so  long  as  it  did  really  come  before 
the  world.  Were  that  once  accomplished,  through 
whatsoever  medium,  you  would  have  fulfilled  your 
mission,  and  would  have  a  right  to  talk  of  going 
hence.  If  a  preacher  is  inspired,  and  cannot  find  a 
pulpit,  he  must  speak  from  the  top  of  a  barrel.  But 
there  are  very  respectable  publishers  in  London, 
some  one  of  whom,  I  hope,  would  undertake  it. 
Routledge  has  published  about  a  hundred  thousand 
volumes  of  my  books,  and  has  several  times  sought 
to  institute  personal  relations  with  me.  I  do  not 
yet  know  him,  but  would  see  him,  if  you  desire  it, 
on  this  subject;  and  if  any  commendation  on  my 
part  might  avail  with  him,  it  should  not  be  wanting. 
It  would  be  in  his  power  to  circulate  the  work 
widely ;  and  I  presume  he  would  deal  fairly  with 
you,  on  the  principles  of  the  Trade. 

There  are  other  publishers,  to  whom  I  should 
have  similar  facilities  of  introducing  the  book. 

I  shall  be  able  to  return  to  London  the  latter 
part  of  this  week  —  perhaps  not  till  Saturday.  As 
soon  as  possible,  next  week,  I  will  call ;  and  per- 
haps it  is  better  that  I  should  receive  "  Coriolanus  " 
from  your  own  hands. 

You  will  not  accomplish  any  good  purpose,  I 
think,  by  writing  to  those  magazine  people.     They 


DELIA   BACON.  213 

will  pay  you  nothing,  unless  on  compulsion  of  law : 
and  they  will  consider  themselves  free  from  lia- 
bility, as  having  returned  the  papers  to  an  agent 
pointed  out,  I  suppose,  by  your  agent,  Mr.  Emer- 
son. If  anything  can  be  done,  Mr.  E.  ought  to 
feel  himself  bound  to  do  it,  that  is,  if  he  were  a 
man  like  other  men  ;  but  he  is  far  more  than  that, 
and  not  so  much. 

With  my  best  wishes. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

The  reply  to  this,  two  days  later,  brought  to 
Hawthorne  more  and  more  narrative  and  discus- 
sion —  about  the  loss  of  the  manuscript  in  America ; 
about  the  responsibility  for  so  heart-breaking  a 
disaster,  whether  upon  Emerson,  or  the  magazine 
publishers,  or  upon  whom  ;  about  past  communi- 
cations with  English  publishers,  and  what  should 
now  be  done  with  them  or  with  others.  As  for 
Routledge,  of  whom  Hawthorne  had  spoken :  "  I 
should  like  nothing  better,"  she  says,  "  than  to 
have  him  publish  it  if  he  will,  and  if  you  would 
give  me  a  Title  for  it,  —  for  that  is  the  principal 
thing  at  first,  —  I  think  you  might  make  of  it  a 
book  for  him.  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  fix  upon  so 
much  as  a  tolerable  one.  Mr.  Emerson  sugo-ested 
*  The  Authorship  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,'  or  some- 
thing of  that  kind,  though  he  said  he  could  not 
name  it  himself,  because  he  had  not  seen  the  book, 


214  DELIA   BACON. 

but  would  wish  to  have  it  '  in  stone.'  I  told  him 
that  that  was  not  the  true  title  of  the  book,  and 
why  it  was  not ;  but  for  lack  of  the  true  one  I  con- 
cluded to  take  it,  and  the  copyright  of  a  book 
with  that  title  has  I  believe  been  secured  in  my 
name  in  America.  But  that  is  of  no  consequence 
I  suppose.  I  have  now  a  chance  to  begin  anew. 
Let  that  book  go,  since  they  have  killed  it  there 
amongst  them,  or  voted  it  dead,  and  performed 
the  last  offices  for  it.  Let  us  begin  with  a  new 
one  here  that  nobody  has  heard  of  yet.  I  have 
thought  a  little  of  calling  it  '  The  Baconian  Philos- 
ophy Illustrated  with  Plays  and  Poems,'  or  '  The 
Baconian  Fables,'  (and  Aphorisms).  Suppose  we 
say  nothing  about  the  Actor  in  the  title  this  time. 
He  has  had  his  name  on  the  title-page  of  this  Phi- 
losophy long  enough.  But  I  must  be  careful  what 
I  say,  for  I  suppose  I  must  take  it  for  granted 
there  is  a  great  gulf  here  between  us  still.  I 
am  not  fit  to  speak  to  any  one  else  on  that  point, 
for  I  have  forgotten  how  to  frame  the  venerable 
chimera  that  that  name  used  to  stand  for.  I  can 
hardly  persuade  myself  that  there  is  anybody  now 
alive  that  really  believes  in  that  moon-calf." 

Then  again  recurring  to  the  great  grief  of  the 
lost  manuscript,  she  submits  herself  nevertheless, 
with  a  docility  which  certainly  does  not  yet  evince 
complete  mental  overthrow,  to  Hawthorne's  paci- 
ficatory dissuasions,  and  consents  to  withhold  the 
sharp  complaints  she  had  determined  to  send.     She 


DELIA   BACON.  215 

does  not  overlook,  indeed,  the  finely  delicate  anal- 
ysis of  one  illustrious  Concord  neighbor  by  another, 
in  the  closing  words  of  the  last  letter,  saying :  "  As 
to  Mr.  Emerson,  he  has  appeared  so  much  like  a 
man,  and  a  great  man  too,  in  this  affair  that  I 
almost  forgot  he  was  a  '  genius '  !  "  And  she  closes 
with  a  reminiscence  of  words  which  she  must  first 
have  heard  in  the  grievous  days  of  her  infancy,  in 
the  Ohio  log-cabin  :  " '  They  that  wait  upon  the 
Lord  shall  renew  their  strength.  They  shall  mount 
up  with  wings  as  eagles  ;  they  shall  run  and  not 
be  weary,  they  shall  walk  and  not  faint.'  And 
since  I  have  heard  your  voice  in  this  outer  dark- 
ness reviving  the  mortal  life  in  me  when  it  was 
well-nigh  gone,  I  take  it  for  an  omen  that  there 
is  something  more  to  be  done  here  yet,  and  begin 
to  plan  anew." 


XIV. 

It  was  only  by  metaphor  that  she  spoke,  in  clos- 
ing her  letter  of  July  23,  of  hearing  the  ''  voice 
in  the  outer  darkness."  A  few  days  afterward  she 
heard  it,  in  literal  truth,  for  the  first  time,  —  and 
the  last. 

Under  date  July  29,  1856,  of  Hawthorne's 
"  English  Note-Books,"  he  mentions  his  visit, 
within  three  days  before,  to  Delia  Bacon  ;  and  in 
his  book,  largely  made  up  from  those  notes,  which 
he  called  "  Our  Old  Home,"  he  thus  describes  the 
visit.  It  is  in  the  chapter  entitled,  from  the  sub- 
ject which  so  largely  occupies  it,  "  Recollections  of 
a  Gifted  Woman." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  dared  to  add  another  to 
the  innumerable  descriptions  of  Stratford-on-Avon, 
if  it  had  not  seemed  to  me  that  this  would  form  a 
fitting  framework  to  some  reminiscences  of  a  very 
remarkable  woman.  Her  labor,  while  she  lived, 
was  of  a  nature  and  purpose  outwardly  irreverent 
to  the  name  of  Shakspeare,  yet,  by  its  actual  ten- 
dency, entitling  her  to  the  distinction  of  being 
that  one  of  all  his  worshippers  who  sought,  though 
she  knew  it  not,  to  place  the  richest  and  stateliest 


DELIA   BACON.  217 

diadem  upon  his  brow.  We  Americans,  at  least, 
in  the  scanty  annals  of  our  literature,  cannot  afford 
to  forget  her  high  and  conscientious  exercise  of 
noble  faculties,  which,  indeed,  if  you  look  at  the 
matter  in  one  way,  evolved  only  a  miserable  error, 
but,  more  fairly  considered,  produced  a  result 
worth  almost  what  it  cost  her.  Her  faith  in  her 
own  ideas  was  so  genuine,  that,  erroneous  as  they 
were,  it  transmuted  them  to  gold,  or,  at  all  events, 
interfused  a  large  proportion  of  that  precious  and 
indestructible  substance  among  the  waste  material 
from  which  it  can  readily  be  sifted. 

*'  The  only  time  I  ever  saw  Miss  Bacon  was  in 
London,  where  she  had  lodgings  in  Spring  Street, 
Sussex  Gardens,  at  the  house  of  a  grocer,  a  portly 
middle-aged,  civil,  and  friendly  man,  who,  as  well 
as  his  wife,  appeared  to  feel  a  personal  kindness 
towards  their  lodger.  I  was  ushered  up  two  (and 
I  rather  believe  three)  pair  of  stairs  into  a  parlor 
somewhat  humbly  furnished,  and  told  that  Miss 
Bacon  would  come  soon.  There  were  a  number  of 
books  on  the  table,  and,  looking  into  them,  I  found 
that  every  one  had  some  reference,  more  or  less 
immediate,  to  her  Shakspearian  theory,  —  a  vol- 
ume of  Raleigh's  '  History  of  the  World,'  a  volume 
of  Montaigne,  a  volume  of  Lord  Bacon's  letters, 
a  volume  of  Shakspeare's  Plays,  and  on  another 
table  lay  a  large  roll  of  manuscript,  which  I  pre- 
sume to  have  been  a  portion  of  her  work.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  a  pocket-Bible  among  the  books,  but 


218  DELIA   BACON. 

everything  else  referred  to  the  one  despotic  idea 
that  had  got  possession  of  her  mind ;  and  as  it  had 
engrossed  her  whole  soul  as  well  as  her  intellect, 
I  had  no  doubt  that  she  had  established  subtile  con- 
nections between  it  and  the  Bible  likewise.  As  is 
apt  to  be  the  case  with  solitary  students,  Miss 
Bacon  probably  read  late  and  rose  late  ;  for  I  took 
up  Montaigne  (it  was  Hazlitt's  translation)  and 
had  been  reading  his  journey  to  Italy  a  good  while 
before  she  appeared. 

"  I  had  expected  (the  more  shame  for  me,  hav- 
ing no  other  ground  of  such  expectation  than  that 
she  was  a  literary  woman)  to  see  a  very  homely, 
uncouth,  elderly  personage,  and  was  quite  agree- 
ably disappointed  by  her  aspect.  She  was  rather 
uncommonly  tall,  and  had  a  striking  and  expressive 
face,  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  which  shone  with  an  in- 
ward light  as  soon  as  she  began  to  speak,  and  by 
and  by  a  color  came  into  her  cheeks  and  made  her 
look  almost  young.  Not  that  she  really  was  so ;  she 
must  have  been  beyond  middle  age  :  and  there  was 
no  unkindness  in  coming  to  that  conclusion,  be- 
cause, making  allowance  for  years  and  ill  health, 
I  could  suppose  her  to  have  been  handsome 
and  exceedingly  attractive  once.  Though  wholly 
estranged  from  society,  there  was  little  or  no  re- 
straint or  embarrassment  in  her  manner:  lonely 
people  are  generally  glad  to  give  utterance  to  their 
pent-up  ideas,  and  often  bubble  over  with  them  as 
freely  as  children  with  their  new-found  syllables. 


DELIA   BACON.  219 

I  cannot  tell  how  it  came  about,  but  we  immedi- 
ately found  ourselves  taking  a  friendly  and  familiar 
tone  together,  and  began  to  talk  as  if  we  had 
known  one  another  a  very  long  while.  A  little 
preliminary  correspondence  had  indeed  smoothed 
the  way,  and  we  had  a  definite  topic  in  the  con- 
templated publication  of  her  book. 

"  She  was  very  communicative  about  her  theory, 
and  would  have  been  much  more  so  had  I  desired 
it ;  but,  being  conscious  within  myself  of  a  sturdy 
unbelief,  I  deemed  it  fair  and  honest  rather  to 
repress  than  draw  her  out  upon  the  subject. 
Unquestionably,  she  was  a  monomaniac;  these 
overmastering  ideas  about  the  authorship  of 
Shakspeare's  plays,  and  the  deep  political  philos- 
ophy concealed  beneath  the  surface  of  them,  had 
completely  thrown  her  off  her  balance  ;  but  at  the 
same  time  they  had  wonderfully  developed  her 
intellect,  and  made  her  what  she  could  not  other- 
wise have  become.  It  was  a  very  singular  phe- 
nomenon :  a  system  of  philosophy  grown  up  in 
this  woman's  mind  without  her  volition,  —  con- 
trary, in  fact,  to  the  determined  resistance  of  her 
volition,  —  and  substituting  itself  in  the  place  of 
everything  that  originally  grew  there.  To  have 
based  such  a  system  on  fancy,  and  unconsciously 
elaborated  it  for  herself,  was  almost  as  wonderful 
as  really  to  have  found  it  in  the  plays.  But,  in 
a  certain  sense,  she  did  actually  find  it  there. 
Shakspeare  has  surface  beneath  surface  to  an  im- 


220  DELIA   BACON. 

measurable  depth,  adapted  to  the  plummet-line  of 
every  reader;  his  works  present  many  phases  of 
truth,  each  with  scope  large  enough  to  fill  a  con- 
templative mind.  Whatever  you  seek  in  him  you 
will  surely  discover,  provided  you  seek  truth. 
There  is  no  exhausting  the  various  interpretation 
of  his  symbols ;  and  a  thousand  years  hence,  a 
world  of  new  readers  will  possess  a  whole  library 
of  new  books,  as  we  ourselves  do,  in  these  volumes 
old  already.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  suggest  to  Miss 
Bacon  this  explanation  of  her  theory,  but  forbore, 
because  (as  I  could  readily  perceive)  she  had  as 
princely  a  spirit  as  Queen  Elizabeth  herself,  and 
would  at  once  have  motioned  me  from  the  room. 

"  I  had  heard,  long  ago,  that  she  believed  that 
the  material  evidences  of  her  dogma  as  to  the 
authorship,  together  with  the  key  of  the  new  phi- 
losophy, would  be  found  buried  in  Shakspeare's 
grave.  Recently,  as  I  understood  her,  this  notion 
had  been  somewhat  modified,  and  was  now  accu- 
rately defined  and  fully  developed  in  her  mind, 
with  a  result  of  perfect  certainty.  In  Lord  Ba- 
con's letters,  on  which  she  laid  her  finger  as  she 
spoke,  she  had  discovered  the  key  and  clew  to  the 
whole  mystery.  There  were  definite  and  minute 
instructions  how  to  find  a  will  and  other  docu- 
ments relating  to  the  conclave  of  Elizabethan  phi- 
losophers, which  were  concealed  (when  and  by 
whom  she  did  not  inform  me)  in  a  hollow  space 
in  the  under  surface  of  Shakspeare's  gravestone. 


DELIA   BACON.  221 

Thus  the  terrible  prohibition  to  remove  the  stone 
was  accounted  for.  Tlie  directions,  she  intimated, 
went  completely  and  precisely  to  the  point,  obvi- 
ating all  difficulties  in  the  way  of  coming  at  the 
treasure,  and  even,  if  I  remember  right,  were  so 
contrived  as  to  ward  off  any  troublesome  conse- 
quences likely  to  ensue  from  the  interference  of 
the  parish  officers.  All  that  Miss  Bacon  now 
remained  in  England  for  —  indeed,  the  object  for 
which  she  had  come  hither,  and  which  had  kept 
her  here  for  three  years  past  —  was  to  obtain  pos- 
session of  these  material  and  unquestionable  proofs 
of  the  authenticity  of  her  theory. 

"  She  communicated  all  this  strange  matter  in  a 
low,  quiet  tone ;  while,  on  my  part,  I  listened  as 
quietly,  and  without  any  expression  of  dissent. 
Controversy  against  a  faith  so  settled  would  have 
shut  her  up  at  once,  and  that,  too,  without  in  the 
least  weakening  her  belief  in  the  existence  of  those 
treasures  of  the  tomb  ;  and  had  it  been  possible  to 
convince  her  of  their  intangible  nature,  I  appre- 
hend that  there  would  have  been  nothing  left  for 
the  poor  enthusiast  save  to  collapse  and  die.  She 
frankly  confessed  that  she  could  no  longer  bear  the 
society  of  those  who  did  not  at  least  lend  a  certain 
sympathy  to  her  views,  if  not  fully  share  in  them  ; 
and  meeting  little  sympathy  or  none,  she  had  now 
entirely  secluded  herself  from  the  world.  In  all 
these  years,  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Farrar  a  few  times, 
but  had  long  ago  given  her  up,  —  Carlyle  once  or 


222  DELIA   BACON. 

twice,  but  not  of  late,  although  he  had  received 
her  kindly ;  Mr.  Buchanan,  while  Minister  in  Eng- 
land, had  once  called  on  her,  and  General  Camp- 
bell, our  Consul  in  London,  had  met  her  two  or 
three  times  on  business.  With  these  exceptions, 
which  she  marked  so  scrupulously  that  it  was  per- 
ceptible what  epochs  they  were  in  the  monotonous 
passage  of  her  days,  she  had  lived  in  the  profound- 
est  solitude.  She  never  walked  out ;  she  suffered 
much  from  ill  health;  and  yet,  she  assured  me, 
she  was  perfectly  happy. 

"  I  could  well  conceive  it ;  for  Miss  Bacon  im- 
agined herself  to  have  received  (what  is  certainly 
the  greatest  boon  ever  assigned  to  mortals)  a  high 
mission  in  the  world,  with  adequate  powers  for  its 
accomplishment ;  and  lest  even  these  should  prove 
insufficient,  she  had  faith  that  special  interpositions 
of  Providence  were  forwarding  her  human  efforts. 
This  idea  was  continually  coming  to  the  surface 
during  our  interview.  She  believed,  for  example, 
that  she  had  been  providentially  led  to  her  lodg- 
ing house,  and  put  in  relations  with  the  good- 
natured  grocer  and  his  family  ;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  considering  what  a  savage  and  stealthy  tribe 
the  London  lodging-house  keepers  usually  are,  the 
honest  kindness  of  this  man  and  his  household 
appeared  to  have  been  little  less  than  miraculous. 
Evidently,  too,  she  thought  that  Providence  had 
brouo;ht  me  forward  —  a  man  somewhat  connected 
with  literature  —  at  the  critical  juncture  when  she 


DELIA   BACON.  223 

needed  a  negotiator  with  the  booksellers ;  and,  on 
my  part,  though  little  accustomed  to  regard  myself 
as  a  divine  minister,  and  though  I  might  even 
have  preferred  that  Providence  should  select  some 
other  instrument,  I  had  no  scruples  in  undertaking 
to  do  what  I  could  for  her.  Her  book,  as  I  could 
see  by  turning  it  over,  was  a  very  remarkable  one, 
and  worthy  of  being  offered  to  the  public,  which, 
if  wise  enough  to  appreciate  it,  would  be  thankful 
for  what  was  good  in  it  and  merciful  to  its  faults. 
It  was  founded  on  a  prodigious  error,  but  was  built 
up  from  that  foundation  with  a  good  many  prodig- 
ious truths.  And,  at  all  events,  whether  I  could 
aid  her  literary  views  or  no,  it  would  have  been 
both  rash  and  impertinent  in  me  to  attempt  draw- 
ing poor  Miss  Bacon  out  of  her  delusions,  which 
were  the  condition  on  which  she  lived  in  comfort 
and  joy,  and  in  the  exercise  of  great  intellectual 
power.  So  I  left  her  to  dream  as  she  pleased 
about  the  treasures  of  Shakspeare's  tombstone, 
and  to  form  whatever  designs  might  seem  good  to 
herself  for  obtaining  possession  of  them.  I  was 
sensible  of  a  ladylike  feeling  of  propriety  in  Miss 
Bacon,  and  a  New  England  orderliness  in  her  char- 
acter, and,  in  spite  of  her  bewilderment,  a  sturdy 
common-sense,  which  I  trusted  would  begin  to 
operate  at  the  right  time,  and  keep  her  from  any 
actual  extravagance.  And  as  regarded  this  matter 
of  the  tombstone,  so  it  proved. 

"  The  interview  lasted  above  an  hour,  during 


224  DELIA   BACON. 

which  she  flowed  out  freely,  as  to  the  sole  auditor, 
capable  of  any  degree  of  intelligent  sympathy, 
whom  she  had  met  with  in  a  very  long  while.  Her 
conversation  was  remarkably  suggestive,  alluring 
forth  one's  own  ideas  and  fantasies  from  the  shv 
places  where  they  usually  haunt.  She  was  indeed 
an  admirable  talker,  considering  how  long  she  had 
held  her  tongue  for  lack  of  a  listener,  —  pleasant, 
sunny,  and  shadowy,  often  piquant,  and  giving 
glimpses  of  all  a  woman's  various  and  readily 
changeable  moods  and  humors ;  and  beneath  them 
all  there  ran  a  deep  and  powerful  under-current  of 
earnestness,  which  did  not  fail  to  produce  in  the 
listener's  mind  something  like  a  temporary  faith  in 
what  she  herself  believed  so  fervently.  But  the 
streets  of  London  are  not  favorable  to  enthusiasms 
of  this  kind,  nor,  in  fact,  are  they  likely  to  flourish 
anywhere  in  the  English  atmosphere ;  so  that, 
long  before  reaching  Paternoster  Row,  I  felt  that 
it  would  be  a  difficult  and  doubtful  matter  to 
advocate  the  publication  of  Miss  Bacon's  book. 
Nevertheless,  it  did  finally  get  published." 

Close  upon  this  visit  she  sends  Hawthorne,  as 
she  had  long  been  anxious  to  do,  her  study  of 
"  Coriolanus,"  or  part  of  it.  It  brought  to  her  one 
of  the  great  joys  of  her  fast  shortening  life  ;  for  it 
brought  her  into  communication  with  Hawthorne's 
wife,  whose  sister,  Elizabeth  Peabody,  had  been 
almost  the  first  confidante  of  her  great  secret,  four 


DELIA   BACON.  225 

or  five  years  before.  This  was  Mrs.  Hawthorne's 
letter  ;  and  it  is  only  justice  to  her  to  whom  it 
was  addressed  that  it  should  be  known  what  not 
unkindly  judgments  were  in  those  days  formed  of 
the  work  she  was  doing,  and  by  what  manner  of 
persons  :  — 

My  dear  Miss  Bacois',  —  Mr.  Hawthorne  wishes 
me  to  tell  you  that  your  manuscript  arrived  safely 
on  Saturday  evening.  He  has  not  read  it  yet,  for 
the  very  good  reason  that  he  could  not,  as  I  have 
had  possession  of  it  ever  since  it  came,  and  only 
finished  it  last  evening.  My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  I 
feel  so  ignorant  in  the  presence  of  your  extraordi- 
nary learning,  that  it  seems  absurd  in  me  even  to 
say  what  I  think  of  your  manuscripts,  and  yet  I 
cannot  help  it ;  for  I  never  read  so  profound  and 
wonderful  a  criticism,  and  I  think  there  never  was 
such  a  philosophic  insight  and  appreciation  since 
Lord  Bacon  himself.  No  subject  has  so  great  a 
fascination  for  me  as  "  divine  Philosophy,"  this 
searching  into  the  nature  of  things,  and  extracting 
their  essence  and  discovering  the  central  order, 
the  Law  that  perpetually  is  striving  to  bring  Har- 
mony, and  which  never  can  be  broken  —  I  mean 
not  without  a  darkening  of  the  Universe.  I  am 
one  of  those  who  have 

"  a  credence  in  my  heart, 
An  espdrance  so  obstinately  strong 
As  doth  outdo  the  attest  of  eyes  and  ears."  ^ 

^  Troilus  and  Cre.isida,  Act  V.,  scene  2.     ^^  Invert  the  attest"  is 
the  original.     [T.  B.] 


226  DELIA    BACON. 

(I  believe  these  are  the  Avords  of  the  immortal  poet 
whom  we  have  called  Shakspere,)  and  so  I  am 
always  ready  to  say  "  Yes,  it  may  be  so,"  to  every 
new  suggestion,  however  astounding.  I  have  often 
thought  we  had  effects  without  cause  in  those 
works,  if  they  were  written  by  an  uncultivated 
mind,  or  rather  by  a  mind  not  cultivated  and 
educated  to  the  last  possibility,  and  I  have  said 
"  It  is  a  miracle."  Yet  I  could  believe  in  a  mir- 
acle. To  add  all  these,  however,  to  what  Lord 
Bacon  has  avowedly  done,  is  to  make  him  such  a 
prodigy  as  the  world  never  before  saw.  But  this 
I  have  room  enough  for  also.  What  I  want  now 
is  more  and  more  and  more  of  your  detections,  your 
proofs,  your  criticism.  I  have  an  insatiable  hunger, 
and  I  shall  be  glad  when  these  and  all  are  in 
print,  for  just  as  sure  as  there  comes  a  point  of 
trembling  interest,  you  begin  to  interline  and  I  am 
driven  wild.  But  this  Inst  manuscript  is  much 
plainer  than  the  others.  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  gone 
to  Routledge  this  morning  to  speak  about  them. 
I  hope  that  he  will  have  the  wit  to  publish  them, 
for,  irrespective  of  their  ulterior  purpose,  they  are 
wonderful,  magnificent. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Sophia  Hawthorne. 

August  8  [1856]. 

Blackheath  Park,  Mr.  Bennock's. 

The  answer  to  this  is  dated  August  9.     '^  I  was 
truly  glad  to  hear  your  voice   at  last.      I  have 


DELIA  BACON.  227 

had  a  kind  of  image  of  you  for  some  time  in  my 
mind,  and  now  that  you  draw  nearer,  I  am  very 
glad  to  identify  in  the  features  of  your  letter  the 
'  soul  feminine  '  of  my  so  noble  friend  and  helper, 
whom  not  seeing  I  had  known  also.  And  yet  I 
think  with  Carlyle  that  the  least  glimpse  of  a 
human  face,  or  the  poorest  portrait,  gives  one  a 
better  idea  of  the  individuality  than  any  other 
kind  of  demonstration.  But  I  found  such  decided 
and  constant  features  not  in  Mr.  Hawthorne's 
books  only  but  in  his  letters,  and  not  in  his  words 
only  but  in  his  acts,  that  my  confidence  in  him 
did  not  need  that  confirmation.  He  has  helped 
me  most  of  all  by  demonstrating  his  acquaintance 
with  this  human  doctrine,  a  knowledge  in  which 
I  have  found  some  men  of  fame  and  learning 
wanting^.  .  .  . 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  see  you  and  those 
dear  little  children  of  yours,  that  I  saw  once  for  a 
moment.  But  there  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do 
at  present.  If  you  are  able  to  do  so  I  should  take 
it  as  a  great  favor  if  you  would  come  and  see  me. 
But  I  will  not  ask  it  of  vou,  because  I  know  it 
would  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  there  would 
be  nothing  to  pay  you  for  it.  My  book  is  all  that 
there  is  of  me  now,  or  rather  my  work,  for  the 
book  is  only  the  beginning  of  it.  I  broke  off  with 
the  Carlyles  (for  there  are  two  of  them)  on  that 
account  entirely.  I  did  not  think  I  was  fit  com- 
pany for  any  one,  and  it  was  a  mere  imposition  on 
my  part  to  be  pretending  to  it." 


228  DELIA   BACON. 

Liverpool,  August  12,  '56. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  had  to  return  hither, 
some  days  ago ;  but  I  had  already  gone  twice  to 
Routledge's,  and,  the  second  time,!  saw  one  of  the 
partners  —  Routledge  himself  being  absent  for  a 
month  or  two.  The  partner  (the  same,  perhaps, 
whom  you  talked  with)  suggested  the  probable 
unsuitableness  of  the  book  to  their  general  line  of 
business ;  but  he  desired  to  see  the  manuscript, 
and  promised  me,  in  any  case,  his  best  advice  and 
utmost  aid  towards  getting  the  work  published. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  it  would  be  quite  prac- 
ticable. The  second  part  of  Coriolanus  had  not 
arrived  when  I  left  Blackheath ;  but  I  propose  to 
deliver  that  portion  of  the  work,  first  and  alone,  to 
the  Routledges,  as  being  perhaps  calculated  to 
make  the  best  impression  on  their  practical  minds. 
I  expect,  at  all  events,  much  benefit  from  the 
counsels  of  these  men,  and  I  will  not  doubt  that 
the  world  shall  be  made  to  hear  your  voice, 

I  cannot  now  say  how  soon  I  shall  return  to 
Blackheath;  but  Mrs.  Hawthorne  will  be  delighted 
to  receive  the  remaining  part  of  Coriolanus,  in  the 
meantime.  I  have  not  yet  read  the  first  part ; 
but  she,  while  reading  it,  kept  overflowing  into 
my  ears  with  the  many  passages  that  took  effect 
on  her.         In  haste. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 


DELIA   BACON.  229 

No  one  who  knew  Hawthorne  through  his  books 
alone  could  need  evidence  of  his  exquisitely  refined 
delicacy  and  sensibility.  Nor  could  one  who  knew 
him  thus  imagine  that  the  same  man  was  charac- 
terized by  the  solidest  and  most  substantial  good 
sense,  and  by  a  strong  intrepidity  which  would 
bring  him,  notwithstanding  an  almost  morbid 
shrinking  from  human  contact,  to  confront  utter 
strangers  with  affairs  not  at  all  his  own,  and  even 
to  incur  the  risk  of  being  thought  officious  in  the 
business  of  others.  In  all  these  letters  of  his, 
nothing  seems  better  to  declare  at  once  his  singular 
good  sense  and  his  unselfish  generosity  than  this 
which  follows,  addressed  to  one  with  whom  he  had 
no  acquaintance,  and  venturing  advice  upon  mat- 
ters in  regard  to  which  men  are  sometimes  very 
sensitive  to  intrusion.  Its  manifest  kindness,  how- 
ever, was  answered  with  the  sincerest  thanks,  as 
having  "  brought  some  measure  of  relief  to  the 
anxiety  of  her  nearest  friends."  But  it  was  plain 
that  he  already  discerned  in  her  extreme  exalta- 
tion the  danger,  if  not  the  actual  beginning,  of 
that  pronounced  derangement  of  mind  which  was 
but  a  few  months  distant. 

U.  S.  Consulate, 
Liverpool,  August  14,  '56. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  I  have  recently  held  some  com- 
munication with  your  sister.  Miss  Delia  Bacon,  at 
present  residing  in  London :  and,  as  I  believe  she 


230  DELIA   BACON. 

has  no  other  friend  in  England,  you  will  not  think 
me  impertinent  in  addressing  you  with  reference 
to  her  affairs.  I  understand  from  her  (and  can 
readily  suppose  it  to  be  the  case)  that  you  are 
very  urgent  that  she  should  return  to  America; 
nor  can  I  deny  that  I  should  give  her  similar  ad- 
vice, if  her  mind  were  differently  circumstanced 
from  what  I  find  it.  But  Miss  Bacon  has  become 
possessed  by  an  idea,  that  there  are  discoveries 
within  her  reach,  in  reference  to  the  authorship  of 
Shakspeare,  and  that,  by  quitting  England,  she 
should  forfeit  all  chance  of  following  up  these  dis- 
coveries, and  making  them  manifest  to  the  public. 
I  say  nothing  as  to  the  correctness  of  this  idea  (as 
respects  the  existence  of  direct,  nuiterial,  and  doc- 
umentary evidence)  as  she  has  not  imparted  to  me 
the  grounds  of  her  belief.  But,  at  all  events,  she 
is  so  fully  and  firmly  possessed  by  it,  that  she  will 
never  leave  England,  voluntarily,  until  she  shall 
have  done  everything  in  her  power  to  obtain  these 
proofs  ;  nor  would  any  argument,  nor,  I  think,  any 
amount  of  poverty  and  hardship  avail  with  her  to 
the  contrary.  And  I  will  say  to  you  in  confidence, 
my  dear  Sir,  that  I  should  dread  the  effect,  on  her 
mind,  of  any  compulsory  measures  on  the  part  of 
her  friends,  towards  a  removal.  If  I  might  pre- 
sume to  advise,  my  counsel  would  be  that  you 
should  acquiesce,  for  the  present,  in  her  remaining 
here,  and  do  what  may  be  in  your  power  towards 
makiny;  her  comfortable. 


DELIA   BACON.  231 

However  mistaken  your  sister  may  be,  she  has 
produced  a  most  remarkable  work,  written  with 
wonderful  earnestness  and  ability,  and  full  of  very 
profound  criticism.  Its  merits  are  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  the  truth  of  her  theory  about  the 
authorship  of  the  plays.  I  am  in  hopes  to  find  a 
publisher  for  the  work,  here  in  England ;  and  I 
should  judge  that  there  was  a  fair  chance  of  its 
meeting  with  such  success  as  would  render  her  in- 
dependent of  her  friends.  But  this,  of  course,  must 
be  an  affair  of  time. 

At  the  only  interview  which  I  have  had  with 
Miss  Bacon,  I  found  her  tolerably  w^ell  in  bodily 
health,  perfectly  cheerful,  and  conversing  with 
great  power  and  intelligence.  She  lodges  in  the 
house  of  some  excellent  people,  who  seem  to  be 
attached  to  her,  and  who  treat  her  as  few  London 
lodging-house  keepers  would  treat  their  inmates,  if 
suspected  of  poverty.  She  is  very  fortunate  in 
having  found  such  a  home  ;  and  I  submit  it  to  your 
judgment,  on  a  view  of  the  whole  case,  whether  it 
will  not  be  more  for  her  well-beino;  to  remain  here, 
than  (against  such  strong  convictions  as  actuate 
her)  to  return  to  America.  And,  as  I  have  already 
said,  it  seems  to  me  quite  certain  that  she  will  not 
return  (with  her  purpose  unfulfilled)  while  she  con- 
tinues to  be  a  free  agent. 

I  write  this  note  of  my  own  motion,  being 
greatly  interested  by  what  I  have  seen  of  your 
sister,  and  feeling,  indeed,  an  anxious  responsibility 
in  putting  her  situation  fairly  before  you. 


232  DELIA   BACON. 

Pardon  me  if  I  have  used  an  undue  freedom,  and 
believe  me, 

Very  sincerely  and  respectfully, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

Rev.  Dr.  Bacon. 

On  the  20th  of  August  she  writes  briefly  to  Mrs. 
Hawthorne,  telling  of  much  suffering  from  sick- 
ness and  pain,  of  plans  for  leaving  London,  of  re- 
lief which  had  come  from  her  friends  in  America, 
and  of  "  a  very  pleasant  letter  from  Mr.  Emerson," 
which  she  is  going  to  send,  and  which,  having 
been  sent,  is  not  among  her  papers.  But  she  says 
that  Hawthorne's  favorable  criticism  of  such  part 
of  herw^ork  as  he  had  read  had  ''had  a  good  effect 
already  "  on  Emerson. 

Then  follow  these  two  letters ;  and  after  them 
she  left  London  for  the  last  time.  Her  work  was 
almost  done. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  have  this  moment 
received  your  manuscript,  and  am  thankful  for 
such  a  godsend  this  dull  weather  and  in  the  con- 
tinued absence  of  my  husband.  The  winter  of  my 
discontent  will  not  be  made  glorious  summer  till 
next  Wednesday,  and  so  we  cannot  read  it  together. 
I  rejoice  at  all  your  hopes  and  assurances,  but 
grieve  much  over  your  suffering.  I  have  been 
waiting  for  a  good  day  to  go  and  see  you,  but  the 
weather  confines  me   on  account  of   my  throat. 


DELIA   BACON.  233 

Will  you  tell  me  where  you  shall  be  after  Monday, 
that  I  may  discover  you  when  I  can  go  to  town. 
In  the  greatest  haste  at  present, 
I  am  sincerely  yours, 

Sophia  Hawthorne. 

I  send  this  directly  to  relieve  your  mind  of 
anxiety  about  the  manuscript. 

Blackheath  Park, 

August  21,  1856. 

12  Spring  St.,  August  26,  '56. 

Dear  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  —  I  have  been  trying 
to  be  able  to  write  a  note  either  to  Mr.  H.  or  your- 
self ever  since  I  received  yours  acknowledging  the 
manuscript,  but  the  illness  of  which  I  spoke  then 
has  proved  a  very  serious  one,  and  i£  I  had  thought 
you  were  quite  well  enough  to  come  and  see  me 
I  should  certainly  have  sent  for  you.  All  my 
arrangements  were  made  to  go  into  the  country 
on  Monday,  but  yesterday  I  could  not  sit  up,  and 
whether  I  get  off  to-day  or  not  is  very  doubtful. 
I  looked  on  while  the  servant  packed  my  trunks 
for  me  last  night  after  her  fashion,  and  it  nearly 
killed  me.  I  am  dying  partly,  principally  I  think, 
of  want  of  proper  food,  proper  for  an  invalid.  The 
mercy  of  the  lodging-house  keepers,  in  that  re- 
spect, is  small  when  the  difference  in  price  be- 
tween the  nutritious  and  the  poisonous  article  goes 
to  them.  Just  at  the  moment  when  it  became 
absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  make  a  change 


234  DELTA   BACON. 

on  that  account  I  found  myself  in  possession  of 
the  means  of  paying  my  bill  here  entirely,  leaving 
a  very  very  small  sum  over.  I  hoped  I  should 
receive  more  this  week,  but  it  has  not  come,  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Farrar  sent  me  some  nice  things  last  week, 
but  I  think  they  came  too  late.  They  don't  revive 
or  strengthen  me  at  all  that  I  can  see.  The  Dr. 
says  that  I  must  go  to  a  farm-house ;  I  told  him  I  was 
very  poor,  and  he  says  I  can  live  on  almost  nothing 
there,  and  have  the  very  diet  that  I  require.  He 
recommends  the  vicinity  of  Leamington,  at  least  I 
told  him  I  had  been  thinking  of  that,  and  he  says 
it  is  the  ver}''  best  I  can  choose.  I  shall  try  to  go 
to-day.  I  shall  take  those  chapters  with  me,  and 
write  them  over  at  my  leisure.  I  put  my  book 
into  Mr.  Hawthorne's  hands  to  dispose  of  as  he 
thinks  best  whether  I  live  or  die.  I  wrote  to  my 
friends  that  I  had  done  so.  If  he  can  get  it  pub- 
lished here  or  in  America,  I  wish  he  would.  I 
know  he  will  make  the  best  terms  for  it  that  he 
can,  and  he  need  not  wait  to  consult  me  about  it  at 
all. 

In  great  haste. 

Truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

Direct  to  me  at  Stratford-on-Avon  Post-office. 
I  shall  leave  my  address  there  for  any  one  who  in- 
quires for  it. 


XV. 

In  what  condition  it  was  that  she  made  alone 
this  last  expedition  of  her  life,  to  Stratford,  is 
briefly  told  by  Mrs.  Farrar  in  the  book  already 
quoted. 

In  London  she  "  had  suffered  many  privations 
during  the  time  that  she  was  writing  her  book. 
She  lived  on  the  poorest  food,  and  was  often  with- 
out the  means  of  having  a  fire  in  her  chamber. 
She  told  me  that  she  wrote  a  great  part  of  her 
large  octavo  volume  sitting  up  in  bed,  in  order  to 
keep  warm.  .  .  . 

"  Her  life  of  privation  and  seclusion  was  very 
injurious  to  both  body  and  mind.  How  great  that 
seclusion  was  is  seen  from  the  following  passage 
from  another  of  her  letters  to  me :  '  I  am  glad  to 
know  that  you  are  still  alive  and  on  this  side  of 
that  wide  sea  which  parts  me  from  so  many  that 
were  once  so  near,  for  I  have  lived  here  much 
like  a  departed  spirit,  looking  back  on  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  a  world  in  which  I  have  no  longer  any 
place.  I  have  been  more  than  a  year  in  this 
house,  and  have  had  but  three  visitors  in  all  that 
time,  and  paid  but  one  visit  myself,  and  that  was 
to  Carlyle,  after  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  come 


236  DELIA   BACON. 

all  the  way  from  Chelsea  to  invite  me,  and  al- 
though he  has  since  written  to  invite  me,  I  have 
not  been  able  to  accept  his  kindness.  I  have  had 
calls  from  Mr.  Grote  and  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  ;  ^ 
and  Mr.  Buchanan  came  to  see  me,  though  I  had 
not  delivered  my  letter  to  him.' 

"  All  the  fine  spirits  who  knew  Miss  Bacon 
found  in  her  what  pleased  and  interested  them, 
and  had  not  that  one  engrossing  idea  possessed 
her,  she  might  have  had  a  brilliant  career  among 
the  literary  society  of  London. 

"  One  dark  winter  evening,  after  writing  all  day 
in  her  bed,  she  rose,  threw  on  some  clothes,  and 
walked  out  to  take  the  air.  Her  lodgings  were  at 
the  West  End  of  London,  near  to  Sussex  Gardens, 
and  not  far  from  where  my  mother  lived.  She 
needed  my  address,  and  suddenly  resolved  to  go  to 
the  house  of  Mrs.  R.  for  it.  She  sent  in  her  re- 
quest, and  while  standing  in  the  doorway  she  had 
a  glimpse  of  the  interior.  It  looked  warm,  cheer- 
ful, and  inviting,  and  she  had  a  strong  desire  to  see 
my  mother ;  so  she  readily  accepted  an  invitation 
to  walk  in,  and  found  the  old  lady  with  her  daugh- 
ter and  a  friend  just  sitting  down  to  tea.  Happily 
my  sister  remembered  that  a  Miss  Bacon  had  been 
favorably  mentioned  in  my  letters  from  Cambridge, 
so  she  had  no  hesitation  in  asking  her  to  take  tea 
with  them.  The  stranger's  dress  was  such  an  ex- 
traordinary dishabille  that  nothing  but  her  lady- 

^  Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  afterward  Lord  Houghton.     [T.  B.] 


DELIA   BACON.  237 

like  manners  and  conversation  could  have  con- 
vinced the  family  that  she  was  the  person  whom 
she  pretended  to  be.  She  told  me  how  much 
ashamed  she  was  of  her  appearance  that  evening ; 
she  had  intended  going  only  to  the  door,  but  could 
not  resist  the  inclination  to  enter  and  sit  down  at 
that  cheerful  tea-table,  which  looked  so  like  mine 
in  Cambrido;e. 

"  The  next  summer  I  was  living  in  London. 
The  death  of  a  dear  friend  had  just  occurred  in 
my  house ;  the  relatives  were  collected  there,  and 
all  were  feeling  very  sad,  when  I  was  told  by  my 
servant  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  me.  I  sent  word 
that  there  was  death  in  the  house,  and  I  could  see 
no  one  that  night.  The  servant  returned,  saying, 
*  She  will  not  go  away,  ma'am,  and  she  will  not 
give  her  name.' 

"  On  hearing  this  I  went  to  the  door,  and  there 
stood  Delia  Bacon,  pale  and  sad.  I  took  her  in  my 
arms  and  pressed  her  to  my  bosom  ;  she  gasped  for 
breath  and  could  not  speak.  We  went  into  a  va- 
cant room  and  sat  down  together.  She  was  faint, 
but  recovered  on  drinking  a  glass  of  port  wine, 
and  then  she  told  me  that  her  book  was  finished 
and  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hawthorne,  and  now  she 
was  ready  to  go  to  Stratford-upon-Avon.  There 
she  expected  to  verify  her  hypothesis,  by  opening 
the  tomb  of  Shakespeare,  where  she  felt  sure  of 
finding  papers  that  would  disclose  the  real  author- 
ship of  the  plays.     I  tried  in  vain  to  dissuade  her 


238  DELIA   BACON. 

from  this  insane  project;  she  was  resolved,  and 
only  wished  for  my  aid  in  winding  up  her  affairs 
in  London  and  setting  her  off  for  Stratford.  This 
aid  I  gave  witli  many  a  sad  misgiving  as  to  the  re- 
sult. She  looked  so  ill  when  I  took  leave  of  her 
in  the  railroad  carriage  that  I  blamed  myself  for 
not  having  accompanied  her  to  Stratford,  and  was 
only  put  at  ease  by  a  very  cheerful  letter  from 
her,  received  a  few  days  after  her  departure." 

This  letter  was  very  like  in  substance,  and  al- 
most in  terms,  to  that  which  follows  here. 

August  29-30,  '56. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Hawthorne,  —  Twenty -four 
hours  after  I  left  London  —  alone,  and  fearfully  ill 
—  not  knowing  hardly  whither  I  went,  —  I  found 
myself  lying  on  the  sofa,  in  the  most  perfect  little 
Paradise  of  neatness  and  comfort  that  you  can 
possibly  conceive  of  —  if  it  had  been  invented  on 
purpose,  and  dropped  down  out  of  the  clouds  to 
receive  me  at  the  end  of  my  journey,  it  could  not 
have  been  more  exactly  the  place  I  wanted,  —  with 
a  dear  good  motherly  old  lady  to  nurse  me  and 
take  care  of  me,  and  no  other  creature  in  the 
house  but  her  little  servant  who  is  all  of  a  piece 
with  the  rest  of  it.  It  is  not  a  lodging  house. 
The  owner  of  it  lives  on  her  rents,  and  never  took 
a  lodger  in  her  life  before,  but  some  person  had 
heard  that  she  thouo-ht  of  taking^  a  friend  of  hers 
for  company,  and  something  had  happened  to  pre- 


DELIA   BACON.  239 

vent  it,  and  she  thought  if  she  could  find  a  hidj  to 
her  mind,  perhaps  she  would  take  one.  I  had  stip- 
ulated for  a  place  near  the  church,  and  this  was 
mentioned  in  that  connection.  The  only  objects 
to  be  seen  from  my  window  as  I  write  are  the 
trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  and  the  church 
directly  before  me,  only  a  few  yards  from  here, 
though  I  shall  have  to  go  about  some  to  find  ac- 
cess to  it,  I  suppose.  I  took  the  old  lady  by  storm. 
She  was  not  at  home  when  I  arrived  here.  I  had 
come  in  a  "  Fly  "  from  the  "  Red  'Orse,"  for  I  could 
just  as  soon  have  forded  the  Atlantic  Ocean  as  to 
have  walked  the  short  distance  from  my  inn  to  this 
place.  You  must  know  I  was  so  deadly  ill  that  I 
could  not  get  taken  in  at  an  ordinary  lodging 
house ;  they  thought  from  my  appearance  that  I 
was  going  to  die  directly  and  that  it  would  not  be 
worth  the  trouble.  At  least  there  was  great  hesi- 
tation on  that  account  evidently,  and  I  could  not 
wait  for  the  decision.  This  old  lady  had  gone  to 
church  —  something  about  the  Jews  —  her  little 
handmaid  said,  from  which  I  argued  favorably. 
The  moment  I  looked  into  the  house  I  thought  I 
saw  that  it  was  the  place  appointed  for  me,  and  I 
ordered  the  porter  to  take  off  my  luggage.  It 
was  deposited  in  the  hall,  and  seating  myself  in 
the  room  which  I  intended  to  occupy,  and  trying 
to  get  as  much  life  into  my  face  as  I  could,  I 
awaited  with  some  anxiety  the  return  of  the  owner 
of  the  establishment.     The  little  handmaid  seemed 


240  DELIA   BACON. 

to  have  some  misgivings  and  once  she  came  to  the 
door  and  said  timidly, "  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Terrett  ? " 
I  told  her  she  need  not  give  herself  any  trouble,  I 
would  take  all  the  blame  of  it.  The  kitchen  was 
what  finally  decided  me  to  stop  ;  I  walked  into  it, 
and  I  thought  it  was  the  prettiest  place  I  ever  saw. 
The  walls  were  painted  cerulean  blue,  and  every- 
thing in  it  shone  like  gold.  The  little  servant  kept 
running  up  stairs  and  putting  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  finally  she  reported  that  the  thing  was 
ended,  whatever  it  was,  and  that  her  mistress  was 
coming.  The  moment  I  saw  her  kind  countenance 
I  was  sure  that  I  had  not  made  a  mistake.  She 
was  very  much  surprised  of  course,  —  said  that  she 
had  thought  a  little  of  such  a  thing,  but  was  not 
aware  that  she  had  named  it  to  any  one.  She  saw 
that  I  was  very  ill,  and  that  I  think  decided  her  not 
to  send  me  away,  at  least  till  I  was  better.  We 
talked  about  the  price.  —  Two  very,  very  nice 
rooms,  good  sized,  and  well  furnished  —  the  front 
room  and  the  room  over  it.  She  asked  me  if  I 
thought  —  if  she  furnished  linen,  etc. — if  seven 
shillings  per  week  would  be  too  much  for  rent  and 
attendance.  As  I  had  been  paying  eighteen,  for 
accommodations  very  much  less  to  my  mind,  I  told 
her  I  thought  it  would  not.  So  all  was  settled, 
and  she  made  me  lie  down  on  the  sofa  and  covered 
me  up  like  a  mother,  and  went  off  to  prepare  some 
refreshment  for  me  immediately,  and  there  I  lay 
at  two  o'clock  —  (the  hour  I  left  London  the  day 


DELIA   BACON.  241 

before)  looking  out  on  that  church  spire,  and  those 
trees  on  the  Avon,  so  near,  so  very  near,  and  yet 
doubtful  whether  my  feet  would  ever  take  me 
the're.  For  such  deathly,  deathly  weakness  no 
one  ever  felt  before  I  believe  who  was  able  to  go 
about  in  person  to  take  lodgings.  I  have  scarcely 
had  a  thought  or  an  emotion  since  I  left  London. 
I  am  only  an  automaton  obeying  some  former  pur- 
pose, obeying  rather  the  Power  above  that  is  work- 
ing beneficently  in  all  this.  I  have  no  anxiety, 
no  care  about  it.  I  love  to  be  here.  Those  beau- 
tiful trees  and  that  church  spire  look  a  little  like 
dream-land  to  me,  and  after  the  trouble  of  the 
journey  yesterday  I  felt  almost  inclined  to  pro- 
nounce the  aspirate  as  the  natives  do  here ;  it 
would  not  be  the  first  time  that  that  play  on  the 
word  has  been  made  —  'Avon.  I  lie  here  as  quiet 
and  as  helpless  as  a  baby  waiting  on  the  Power 
that  has  brought  me  here,  with  no  fear  now  that 
any  thing  will  fail  which  the  opening  of  this  new 
fountain  of  blessings  for  men,  requires  to  be  done. 
I  shall  be  here  perhaps  for  months  to  come.  To 
recover  my  health  is  now  my  only  object.  If  that 
can  he  done,  this  I  think  is  the  place  for  it.  The 
air  is  as  pure  as  heaven,  and  the  calm  after  that 
noise  for  twenty  months  soothes  me  every  moment. 
Yesterday  I  could  not  have  written  a  page  of  this 
to  save  my  life,  but  I  have  had  the  table  drawn  up 
to  the  sofa  and  I  stop  and  rest  me  whenever  I  am 
tired.    It  gives  me  pleasure  to  write  it  to  you,  and 


242  DELIA    BACON. 

I  think  you  will  like  to  know  what  has  become  of 
me,  though  I  do  not  know  as  you  will  care  for  all 
these  details.  But  I  thought  you  might  feel  some 
uneasiness  about  me,  taking  all  the  circumstances 
into  the  account,  and  I  wished  both  Mr.  H.  and 
yourself  to  know  that  I  am  here  for  my  health, 
and  for  the  rest  I  shall  wait  for  clear  indications, 
and  I  expect  help  and  direction  from  a  power 
which  is  not  limited  to  the  sphere  of  my  conscious- 
ness and  volitions.  I  expect  it  to  work  in  other 
minds  as  well  as  my  own  if  that  should  be  required, 
for  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  been  brought  here 
after  so  long  a  time  for  nothing.  I  had  to  stop  in 
the  midst  of  a  sentence  last  night  for  that  deathly 
faintness  came  over  me  again  and  I  could  not  even 
sign  my  name  to  the  letter  so  as  to  get  it  to  the 
Post  in  time.  I  slept  eight  hours  last  night  and 
this  morning  I  begin  to  feel  some  faint  return  of 
my  former  self.  Till  now  my  mind  has  instinc- 
tively excluded  all  thoughts  of  my  work  and  every- 
thing connected  with  it.  What  I  have  put  on  pa- 
per here  is  the  most  that  I  have  thought  on  the 
subject  since  I  left  London.  There  was  no  vital- 
ity to  spare,  and  I  suppose  it  will  take  many  days 
yet  to  put  me  back  where  I  was  in  health  when 
I  planned  my  journey  here. 

Most  truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

Address  at  Mrs.  Terrett's, 

College  St.,  Stratford-on-Avon. 


DELIA   BACON.  243 

[Mrs.  HAWTHOKifE  to  D.  B.] 
My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  When  I  received  your 
very  welcome  note  dated  Stratford-on-Avon,  I  had 
on  my  bonnet  to  go  to  Oxford  with  Mr.  Haw- 
thorne, or  I  should  have  replied  to  it  at  once.  I 
have  been  to  Oxford  —  and  when  there  was  hur- 
ried from  place  to  place  and  obliged  to  sit  and  be 
polite  part  of  the  time,  as  we  were  guests  of  a 
gentleman  there.  On  my  return  I  was  obliged  to 
spend  the  very  next  day  in  London  to  see  the 
Doctor  and  a  dentist.  The  next  day  I  went  to 
Hampton  Court,  and  now  this  is  the  first  quiet  and 
leisure  I  have  had.  I  am  unspeakably  stupid  from 
fatigue  to-day,  but  I  cannot  allow  another  mail  to 
pass  without  telling  you  what  a  relief  it  was  to  me 
to  have  your  note,  and  to  hear  that  you  were  in 
such  a  sweet  little  quiet  place,  and  under  such 
kind  guardianship.  May  Heaven  bless  the  old 
lady  and  her  little  maid  !  May  the  sun  ever  shine 
on  the  cottage !  You  seem  led  by  the  angel  of 
the  Lord.  I  wish  very  much  to  know  whether 
you  are  getting  better.  If  you  cannot  write,  tell 
the  kind  old  lady  to  write  for  you  and  let  me  know 
how  you  do.  We  shall  leave  Blackheath  on  the 
Thursday  or  Friday  of  this  week  —  and  then  will 
you  direct  to  the  Consulate  till  I  can  tell  you 
where  we  are  at  the  seaside.  It  seems  to  me 
impertinent  to  be  anxious  or  careful  about  you 
whom  the  angels  guard.     Our  friend  Mr.  Bennoch 


244  DELIA   BACON. 

is  going  to  aid  us  about  getting  your  manuscripts 
published,  but  I  know  nothing  to  tell  you  quite 
yet. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  I  did  not  know  till  your 
note  enclosed  by  Mrs.  Farrar  that  your  health  was 
feeble,  or  that  your  friends  had  left  you  solely  to 
God.  Mr.  Hawthorne  had  never  informed  me  of 
your  present  needs.  I  thought  you  "  beyond  the 
utmost  scope  and  vision  of  calamity,"  like  a  dis- 
embodied thought.  You  ought  not  to  be  obliged 
to  think  of  what  you  shall  eat  or  wherewithal 
you  should  be  clothed  while  occupied  with  your 
noble  work. 

With  the  highest  admiration  and  respect, 
I  am  very  sincerely  yours, 

Sophia  Hawthoene. 

7th  September  [1856]. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  Sept.  24,  '56. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  have  seen  a  notice  of 
the  publication  you  tell  me  about,  in  the  Athe- 
naeum ;  but  I  have  not  seen  the  thing  itself,  and 
can  not  procure  it  here.  The  Athenseum  refers  to 
your  essay  on  the  subject,  published  in  Putnam's 
Magazine.  From  the  extracts,  I  should  judge  that 
the  author  of  the  "Letter"  takes  hold  of  the 
matter  externally,  without  looking  inside  of  the 
plays  for  any  part  of  his  argument.  I  will  write 
to  a  friend  in  London  to  send  you  a  copy. 


DELIA    BACON.  245 

When  I  was  compelled  to  leave  London,  I  put 
the  affair  (of  publishing  your  work)  into  the  hands 
of  a  gentleman  in  whose  energy  I  had  all  confi- 
dence, and  who  seemed  to  take  hold  of  it  lovingly, 
for  my  sake.  But  I  do  not  yet  know  what  he  has 
done  about  it.  I  shall  stir  him  and  all  other  peo- 
ple up  about  it.  I  do  not  know  what  effect  the 
publication  of  the  "Letter"  will  have  on  the 
minds  of  booksellers ;  but,  should  it  draw  notice 
to  the  subject,  I  should  deem  it  all  the  better. 
Your  original  property  in  the  idea  is  sufficiently 
established. 

Mrs.  Hawthorne  is  at  Southport,  about  twenty 
miles  from  Liverpool,  and  is  pretty  well. 

I  write  in  immense  haste. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

P.  S.  You  say  nothing  about  the  state  of  your 
funds.  Pardon  me  for  alluding  to  the  subject; 
but  you  promised  to  apply  to  me  in  case  of  need. 
I  am  ready.  N.  H. 

Two  allusions  in  the  last  preceding  letter  are 
worthy  of  explanation. 

The  "publication"  which  had  been  noticed  in 
the  Athenceum,  and  of  which  she  had  evidently 
written  to  Hawthorne  in  some  alarm,  was  a  pam- 
phlet by  Mr.  William  Henry  Smith,  printed  in  Lon- 
don for  private  circulation  in  September,  1856, 
and  entitled,  "  Was  Lord   Bacon   the   Author  of 


246  DELIA   BACON. 

Shakespeare's  Plays:  A  Letter  to  the  Earl  of 
Ellesmere." 

Upon  this,  Hawthorne,  in  his  Introduction  to 
Delia  Bacon's  book,  animadverted  with  severity, 
as  an  unfair  assumption  of  that  lady's  theory  as 
original  with  the  author  of  the  pamphlet. 

This  accusation,  however,  he  afterward  publicly 
withdrew,  upon  sufficient  assurance  from  Mr.  Smith 
that  he  had  "  never  heard  the  name  of  Miss  Bacon 
until  it  was  mentioned  in  the  review  of "  his 
pamphlet. 

The  friend  in  whose  hands  Hawthorne  had  now 
"put  the  affair  of  publishing"  was  Francis  Ben- 
noch,  F.  S.  A.,  a  London  merchant,  and  sometime 
Member  of  Parliament.  The  published  "  English 
Note-Books  "  of  Hawthorne  show  on  almost  every 
page  how  close  their  friendship  was  during  all  his 
stay  in  England.  He  was  himself  —  or  he  would 
not  have  been  Hawthorne's  friend  —  a  gentleman 
of  fine  tastes,  which  are  evinced  in  a  collected 
volume  of  his  poems.^ 

^  Poems.,  Lyrics,  Songs,  and  Sonnets:,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co., 
1881. 


XVI. 

When  Hawthorne  saw  his  correspondent,  on  the 
29th  of  July,  he  recorded  in  his  diary  the  judg- 
ment that  she  was  "  a  monomaniac."  The  phrase, 
which  he  may  have  used,  as  it  is  used  so  often,  in 
something  less  than  its  scientific  sense,  was  rapidly 
coming  to  be  strictly  exact.  The  complete  signifi- 
cance of  these  following  letters,  in  showing  her  in- 
creasing mental  disturbance,  will  be  made  clearer 
by  giving  some  account  of  a  long  and  most  wise, 
considerate,  and  affectionate  one  from  her  brother 
to  her,  about  the  12th  of  September. 

He  tells  of  that  "  ceaseless  pressure  of  work," 
known  to  all  who  knew  him,  which  had  hindered 
his  writing  to  her  very  often  or  very  long.  "  But 
your  last  letter,"  he  says,  "moves  me  to  seize  time 
from  other  duties,  and  to  write  more  at  length 
than  I  have  done  heretofore.  .  .  . 

"  I  read  with  much  interest  your  article  in  the 
January  number  of  Putnam's  Magazine ;  and  I 
shared  with  you  —  as  I  believe  I  have  already  told 
you  —  in  the  disappointment  which  followed.  The 
thought  of  your  obtaining  for  your  long  labors 
something  which  might  give  you  at  least  a  tem- 
porary support  was  one  which  I  entertained  the 


248  DELIA   BACON. 

more  gladly  for  its  unexpectedness.  I  will  still 
hope  that  the  materials  which  you  have  accumu- 
lated as  the  result  of  so  much  toil  may  be  made 
available  for  your  relief  from  the  troubles  that 
crowd  you.  Of  course,  I  have  no  means  of  judg- 
ing what  those  materials  are,  except  from  the 
specimen  in  the  Magazine.  If  any  one  can  help 
you  in  making  them  available,  Mr.  Hawthorne  is 
the  man.  Let  me  beg  you  to  follow  his  advice. 
If  he  can  find  a  publisher  for  you,  do  not  hesitate 
to  accept  any  compensation  which  he  may  think 
reasonable,  or  (in  your  circumstances)  expedient. 
As  an  experienced  author,  he  is  competent  to  ad- 
vise you  on  all  questions,  both  as  to  what  yov\  will 
select  for  publication,  and  how  you  will  publish  it. 
As  to  the  title,  I  would  say.  Let  him  and  the  pub- 
lisher agree  about  that.  Their  judgment  will  be 
worth  more  than  yours  and  mine  together.  This, 
however,  I  will  venture  to  suggest.  Your  mate- 
rials, if  I  have  any  idea  of  them,  will  be  worth 
more  to  you  in  the  shape  of  separate  articles  for 
magazines  and  other  periodicals,  than  if  put  into 
one  solid  volume.  And,  furthermore,  your  theor}'- 
about  the  authorship  of  Shakspeare's  Plays  is 
worth  far  less  in  money  value  to  you  or  to  any 
publisher,  than  your  exposition  of  the  meaning  of 
those  compositions.  You  know  perfectly  well  that 
the  great  world  does  not  care  a  sixpence  who  wrote 
Hamlet.  But  there  are  myriads  who  can  read 
Hamlet  with  delight,  and  who  will  be  thankful  to 


DELIA   BACON.  249 

anybody  that  will  make  their  reading  of  it  more 
delightful  or  more  useful. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  sister,  if  you  will  but  have 
the  courage  to  fall  back  on  your  natural  good 
sense,  you  will  find  your  way  out  of  '  the  enchanted 
wood  '  into  which  you  have  been  led.  Misguided 
by  your  imagination,  you  have  yielded  yourself  to 
a  delusion  which,  if  you  do  not  resist  it  and  escape 
from  it  as  for  your  life,  will  be  fatal  to  you.  How 
to  say  less  than  this,  I  know  not.  I  am  not  now 
to  inform  you  that  your  theory  about  Shakspeare 
and  Shakspeare's  tomb  and  all  that  is  a  mere 
delusion  —  a  trick  of  the  imagination.  For  five 
years  you  have  known  that  I  think  so.  And  —  0 
my  dear  sister  —  can  you  not,  in  God's  name,  and 
in  the  strength  which  he  will  give  you,  break  the 
spell,  and  escape  from  the  delusion  ?  " 

Then,  after  news  of  many  persons  in  whom  she 
was  interested,  he  resumes : 

"  I  have  written  this  long  letter  at  intervals, 
snatching;  a  few  moments  now  and  then  for  the 
purpose  of  expressing  my  undiminished  brotherly 
interest  in  your  welfare.  Some  passages  were 
written  with  the  consciousness  that  they  would  be 
painful  to  you,  but  T  show  you  more  respect  and 
treat  you  with  more  confidence  by  retaining  them, 
than  I  could  by  suppressing  them.  The  friends 
who  humor  your  delusion,  and  permit  you  to  be- 
lieve that  they  think  there  may  be  something  in 
it,  may  have  the  kindest  intentions,  but  they  have 


250  DELIA   BACON. 

less  confidence  in  you  than  I  have  shown  by 
speaking  frankly  what  they  think  would  be  lost 
upon  you.  And  having  returned  to  this  subject,  I 
will  make  another  suggestion.  Your  theory  about 
the  authorship  of  Shakspeare's  plays  may  after  all 
be  worth  something  if  published  as  a  fiction.  You 
might  introduce  such  things  into  a  romance,  and 
find  readers  who  would  accept  it  respectfully  as 
a  work  of  imagination,  and  be  gratified  with  it, 
when  if  the  same  things  are  brought  forward  with 
grave  argument,  as  facts  to  be  believed,  they  will 
reject  the  whole  work  with  contempt.  I  make 
this  suggestion,  not  to  discourage  you,  but  to 
encourage  you,  by  showing  how  all  your  materials 
may  be  turned  to  good  account.  ...  I  hope  to 
write  to  you  again  before  long.  Meanwhile  com- 
mending you  to  the  watchfulness  and  covenant 
love  of  the  God  of  our  father  and  mother,  I  am 
your  affectionate  brother." 

This  letter  was  never  answered.  Its  effect  upon 
her  however,  so  different  from  that  which  its  wise 
and  solemnly  tender  remonstrance  must  surely 
have  had  upon  her  normal  mind,  is  plainly  enough 
shown  in  that  to  Hawthorne  which  follows.  But 
before  e-ivino-  that  there  should  be  mentioned  three 
little  notes  from  the  vicar  of  Stratford.  On  the 
11th  of  October  he  expresses  regret  at  having 
been  unable  to  call  on  her  that  morning,  and 
promises  to  come  on  Monday.  That  day  he  again 
excuses  himself  on  the  ground  of  a  forgotten  en- 


DELIA   BACON.  251 

gagement,  and  proceeds  :  "  As  further  delay  might 
cause  inconvenience  to  yourself  I  shall  commit  to 
paper  what  I  should  have  preferred  to  say  viva 
voce,  viz.,  that  I  regret  extremely  that  I  cannot 
accede  to  your  request  under  a  sense  of  the  duty 
which  I  owe  to  others;  but  I  must  at  the  same 
time  assure  you  most  sincerely  that  my  decision  is 
not  influenced  by  the  least  want  of  confidence  in 
yourself.     I  shall  however  be  most  happy  to  find 
that  I  can  make  such  arrangements  as  will  enable 
you  to  accomplish  your  purpose.     If   you  would 
not  object  to  the  presence  of  the  Clerk,  who  I  feel 
sure  would  not  betray  j^our  confidence,  or  if  you 
w^ould  like  better  to  be  accompanied  by  me,  which- 
ever you  prefer,  you  have  only  to  intimate  your 
wishes  and  I  will   pay   the   readiest  attention   to 
them.     I  need  scarcely  add  that  I  have  complied 
with  3'onr  request  not  to  mention  the  subject  to 
any  human  being."    And  at  last,  on  the  14th,  in 
answer,  it  seems,  to  further  urgency  of  the  sort 
disclosed   in   her  letter  which  follows,   he  writes 
again  "  to  assure  you  that  I  am  not  in  the  least 
disposed  to  look  upon  our  brothers  of  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic  at  all  as  strangers.     The  fact 
of  their  coming  so  long  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine 
of  Shakspeare  would  induce  me  to  give  them  a 
greater   degree    of    consideration    than   my    own 
countrymen.     Having  a  distinct  and  plain  duty  to 
perform,   I  should    not,  even  were  Lord    Carlisle 
to  come  here  and  make  the  same  request  to  me, 


252  DELIA   BACON. 

grant  it  to  him  even,  —  and  he  has  certainly  done 
much  for  us  in  Stratford ;  and  that  I  do  trust  you 
will  not  conceive  I  am  for  one  moment  throwing 
the  least  doubt  on  your  good  faith  in  the  decision 
I  have  come  to." 

[D.  B.  TO   Hawthorne.] 

Stratford-upon-Avon,  Oct.  16  [1856]. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  have  not  yet  tested 
my  belief  in  regard  to  the  deposit  of  certain 
memorials  here  which  may  tend  to  hasten  the 
reception  of  those  new  applications  of  science  to 
practice  which  the  work  you  have  so  nobly  taken 
in  hand  was  meant  to  propound,  and  which  do  not 
depend  on  any  such  contingency  for  their  value. 
Since  I  have  been  here  I  have  been  in  such  a  state 
of  health  that  it  has  been  literally  impossible  for 
me  to  make  the  experiment  which  I  came  here  to 
make.  I  could  not  bear  so  much  as  the  thought 
of  it.  Even  though  I  had  positively  known  before- 
hand that  I  should  be  successful,  I  should  still  have 
recoiled  from  it.  But  I  felt  that  I  must  not  yield 
to  that  weakness,  and  I  was  constantly  watching 
for  the  moment  when  my  physical  strength  would 
allow  me  to  take  the  preliminary  steps.  The  week 
after  I  wrote  you  last,  I  went  to  the  church  for  the 
second  time  since  I  have  been  here  (I  told  you  of 
my  first  visit).  I  chose  the  hour  at  which  the  clerk 
told  me  I  should  be  the  least  likely  perhaps  to  be 
interrupted  by  other  visitors,  and  in  the  course  of 


DELIA   BACON.  253 

that  hour,  I  think  he  brought  in  not  less  than 
twenty  persons.  I  outstayed  them  all,  but  the  lia- 
bility to  intrusion  at  any  moment  was  not  favor- 
able to  my  objects. 

"  The  clerk  having  locked  me  in,  came  for  me  at 
six  o'clock,  by  agreement.  That  was  "  a,  fair  day  " 
he  said,  but  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
there  was  no  hour  in  the  day  when  I  could  be 
sure  of  being  left  to  myself.  I  then  proposed  the 
evening,  and  he  made  no  objection,  but  said  he 
would  give  me  a  candle  and  any  assistance  that  I 
wanted. 

"  So  the  next  time  I  went  was  in  the  evening  at 
seven  o'clock.  He  gave  me  the  key,  and  he  was 
to  call  for  me  at  ten.  It  was  necessary  for  me  to 
make  a  sort  of  confidant  of  my  landlady,  and  a 
very  excellent  one  she  is.  It  happened  that  I  met 
her  as  I  was  going,  and  I  induced  her  to  walk 
there  with  me.  She  shrank  very  much  from  going 
into  the  church  in  the  dark,  but  I  told  her  I  was 
not  in  the  least  afraid,  —  I  only  wanted  her  to 
help  me  a  little.  So  I  groped  my  way  to  the 
chancel,  and  she  waited  till  the  light  was  struck. 
I  had  a  dark  lantern  like  Guy  Fawkes,  and  some 
other  articles  which  might  have  been  considered 
suspicious  if  the  police  had  come  upon  us.  The 
clerk  was  getting  uneasy,  and  I  found  he  had  fol- 
lowed us,  though  he  had  not  proposed  to  do  so,  and 

I  was  very  glad  Mrs. was  with  me,  because 

I  made  a  statement   in  her  presence  which  reas- 


254  DELIA   BACON. 

sured  him,  and  they  both  went  off  and  left  me 
there.  That  was  the  chance  that  I  had  desired, 
but  I  had  made  a  promise  to  the  clerk  that  I  would 
not  do  the  least  thing  for  which  he  could  be  called 
in  question,  —  and  though  I  went  far  enough  to 
see  that  the  examination  I  had  proposed  to  make, 
could  be  made,  leaving  all  exactly  as  I  found  it,  it 
could  not  be  made  in  that  time,  nor  under  those 
conditions.  I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  make  it,  for 
fear  I  might  violate  the  trust  this  man  had  reposed 
in  me,  and  if  I  were  not  wholly  and  immediately 
successful  I  should  have  run  the  risk  of  losing  any 
chance  of  continuing  my  research.  I  was  alone 
there  till  ten  o'clock.  On  my  right  was  the  old 
Player,  I  knew,  looking  down  on  me,  but  I  could 
not  see  him.  I  looked  up  to  the  ceiling  but  it 
was  not  visible ;  there  was  something  that  looked 
like  a  midnight  sky,  and  all  the  long  drawn  aisle 
was  in  utter  darkness.  I  heard  a  creaking  in  it, 
a  cautious  step,  repeatedly,  and  I  knew  that  the 
clerk  was  there  and  watching  me.  He  told  me 
when  he  came  in  at  last,  that  he  had  been  about 
the  church  all  the  evening.  He  evidently  felt  that 
he  w^as  doing  something  questionable  at  least,  in 
permitting  me  to  be  there  under  those  circum- 
stances, and  as  I  knew  that  my  movements  must 
seem  quite  unaccountable  to  him,  I  told  him  then 
and  there,  in  general  terms,  what  my  objects  were, 
but  that  I  had  respected  my  promise  to  him,  and 
though  I  might  need  his  aid  I  would  not  propose 


DELIA   BACON.  255 

to  him  anything  inconsistent  with  his  duties,  and 
that  I  had  concluded  to  ask  the  permission  of  the 
Vicar  before  I  proceeded  any  further.  He  told  me 
it  would  be  as  much  as  his  place  was  worth  (and 
nobody  knows  how  much  that  is)  to  assist  me 
without  leave,  but  if  the  Vicar  would  give  him  leave 
he  should  be  very  glad  to  do  so.  I  told  him  not 
to  say  anything  to  the  Vicar  about  it  until  I  had 
seen  him,  and  though  I  had  not  a  letter  to  him  I 
had  some  testimonials  which  would  answer  my 
purpose,  and  I  would  introduce  myself.  That  was 
rather  a  premature  movement,  and  I  had  to  stop 
to  rest  upon  it." 

Then  follow  many  pages  —  twice  as  many  as 
are  printed  above  —  telling  of  the  letter  from  her 
brother,  with  the  bitterest  complaints  of  his  cold 
and  deliberate  cruelty  in  writing  to  her  thus.  Be- 
fore this,  in  the  course  of  this  pursuit  of  hers,  she 
says,  "  I  have  suffered,  past  the  power  of  tongue 
or  pen  to  say  how  much,  from  his  harshness  and 
coldness  and  from  his  desertion  of  me,  but  I  have 
always  apologized  for  him  and  my  belief  in  him 
and  affection  for  him  has  always  been  ready  to  re- 
vive again,  and  asking  leave  to  heal  over  all  these 
wrongs.  But  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  healing 
for  this.  .  .  .  He  knows  how  to  express  himself 
according  to  the  prescribed  rules  of  Christian 
kindness,  when  he  is  most  cruel.  This  is  a  very 
fraternal  letter  on  the  surface.  .  .  .  He  affects  to 


256  DELIA   BACON. 

consider  it  [the  book]  a  total  failure,  and  suggests 
that  I  might  possibly,  out  of  the  wreck  of  my  ma- 
terials, compose  a  work  of  fiction  which  might  be 
amusing  and  saleable.  I  might  in  that  way,  he 
thinks,  avoid  the  *  contempt '  —  that  is  his  word  — 
which  my  views  in  their  present  form  provoke,  — 
a  contempt  which  he  has  just  been  trying  to  ex- 
press to  me  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  which 
is  calculated  to  make  up  for  its  want  of  sincer- 
ity. ...  I  told  you  my  brother  was  a  good  man, 
and  I  have  always  thought  him  the  very  very  best 
man  there  was,  and  the  people  who  know  him  best 
are  apt  to  think  that  of  him.  And  that  is  what 
has  given  him  this  power  to  hurt  me.  But  this 
last  letter  has  robbed  him  of  it.  It  is  the  last  of 
many  acts  of  which  I  have  complained  to  him  in 
the  bitterness  of  my  soul,  but  now  I  understand 
them  and  him,  and  I  shall  never  complain  to  him 
again.  But  I  don't  want  any  one  —  I  don't  want 
Mrs.  Hawthorne  to  think  ill  of  him,  and  for  that 
reason  —  and  for  another  which  is,  I  think,  a  good 
one  —  I  wish  you  would  not  show  her  this  letter 
if  you  can  help  it.  It  is  necessary  that  you  should 
know  what  fatal  misunderstanding  this  is,  that 
separates  me  from  my  natural  helpers.  .  .  .  The 
case  is  a  very  difficult  one  you  see.  I  have  never 
written  to  them  for  any  aid.  I  would  have  died 
first.  ...  I  have  used  the  money  that  my  brother 
sent  me  because  I  could  not  well  help  it ;  but  if  he 
sends  me  any  more,  as  I  suppose  from  a  line  at  the 


DELIA  BACON.  257 

end  of  his  letter  he  expects  to,  I  shall  return  it  to 
him.  I  have  not  written  for  any  money,  but  I  had 
reason  to  suppose  that  from  one  source  or  the 
other  I  should  have  some  by  this  time ;  but  it  has 
not  come  yet,  and  I  shall  have  to  take  your  offer, 
for  the  present.  It  is  not  much  that  I  want,  but 
the  money  I  brought  with  me  is  gone,  —  and  to 
undertake  to  do  what  I  propose  to  do  here  abso- 
lutely without  money,  though  I  am  getting  on 
without  any  impediment  thus  far,  is  I  suppose  ask- 
ing too  much  of  human  nature,  in  a  place  where 
the  visits  of  strangers  are  calculated  on  as  the 
principal  means  of  living.  .  .   . 

"I  am  living  now  in  High  Street,  in  a  house  not 
far  from  the  one  that  Shakespeare  retired  to  or 
rather  not  far  from  the  site  of  it,  and  on  the  same 
side  of  the  street,  in  a  house  that  was  evidently 
here  then,  and  one  that  he  has  often  been  in  I 
suppose,  and  whether  it  is  the  air  of  the  place  or 
the  spirit  of  that  abused  individual  revengefully 
inciting  me  —  even  without  the  means  and  appli- 
ances of  the  New  Place,  I  would  be  glad  to  settle 
down  here  quietly  as  he  did,  and  mind  my  own 
business  for  the  future.  And  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  I  shan't  do  that,  if  I  find  I  can,  and  the  world 
should  conclude  it  does  not  want  any  help  of  mine 
—  I  am  a  great  deal  more  at  home  here  than  I 
am  in  America  —  I  tell  all  the  people  here,  that  I 
see,  that  they  need  not  call  me  '  a  foreigner.'  My 
fathers  helped  conquer  this  country,  and  I  have  as 


258  DELIA   BACON. 

good  a  right  here  as  they  have.  I  have  not  defi- 
nitely decided  what  I  am  to  do  in  case  all  that  I 
am  depending  on  now,  fails,  but  the  conviction  that 
I  shall  do  something,  and  not  die,  is  getting  strong 
in  me.  I  shall  be  relieved  from  the  necessity  of 
any  future  reference  to  the  judgment  of  the  world 
on  my  conduct,  though  I  propose  to  keep  by  all 
means  on  good  terms  with  myself,  i  want  you  to 
help  me  till  I  can  get  over  this  difficulty.  Help 
me  through  this  research.  I  won't  ask  any  one 
else.  After  that  if  I  do  live  I  will  help  myself. 
I  owe  this  year  of  my  life  to  you,  and  I  do  not 
mean  that  you,  or  yours,  shall  be  the  poorer  for  it, 
and  I  say  that  not  for  your  sake  but  for  my  own. 
I  should  have  died  when  Mr.  Emerson's  letter 
came,  I  think,  if  it  had  not  been  for  yours  that 
came  with  it,  and  this  more  cruel  one  was  sheathed 
■with  those  two  little  bits  of  paper  on  which  you 
wrote  so  much.  I  had  had  the  first  when  this  let- 
ter came,  and  I  received  the  second  a  few  days 
after.  I  have  not  acknowledged  them,  but  I  have 
been  living  on  them.  I  had  no  heart  to  go  on 
till  I  received  the  second,  after  that  assault  upon 
my  reason.  I  knew  what  fearful  risk  I  was  incur- 
ring, what  my  own  brother  was  prepared  to  say  of 
me  in  case  I  failed,  as  I  expected  to,  for  I  began 
to  take  part  against  myself  —  it  was  enough  to 
drive  one  mad.  But  I  reviewed  all  the  ground  of 
my  belief,  —  I  summoned  to  my  aid  all  the  faculty 
for  distinguishing  truth  from  error  which  God  has 


DELIA    BACON.  259 

given  me,  and  though  I  could  not  predict  the  re- 
sult, though  my  belief  as  to  what  it  may  be,  and 
ought  to  be,  is  altogether  different  from  that  which 
I  have  in  regard  to  the  authorship  of  the  works, 
(for  that  is  a  scientific  certainty,  that  is  knowledge 
and  not  faith,)  even  under  this  so  fearful  penalty, 
assured  that  I  may  find  nothing  there,  —  and  that 
that  is  perhaps  the  thing  most  to  be  expected, — 
I  have  concluded  that  I  should  fail  in  the  obliga- 
tions which  have  been  imposed  on  me,  if  I  were 
to  shrink  now  from  this  examination  for  fear  of  the 
personal  consequences.  That  would  be  base  and 
cowardly.  The  inscription  speaks  of  stones ;  there 
may  be  but  one  lying  directly  on  the  ground,  and 
if  it  is  only  of  the  usual  thickness  there  is  not 
likely  to  be  room  for  my  theory  in  it.  I  suppose 
this  to  be  a  lidy  and  that  there  is  one  beneath  it. 
Whether  there  is,  or  not,  I  mean  to  ascertain. 
There  may  have  been  one  beneath  it  and  it  may 
have  been  removed.  If  it  contained  anything 
valuable,  it  is  the  more  likely  to  have  been. 
There  must  have  been  a  trust  reposed  in  some 
one,  —  if  I  positively  knew  it  was  there  once,  I 
could  not  be  sure  it  is  there  now.  The  stones  on 
either  side  of  it  have  been  put  there  since.  This 
very  clerk  saw  the  two  on  the  west  side  of  it  put 
down,  but  as  to  the  depth  of  this,  he  could  not 
give  me  any  information.  If  I  can  ascertain  the 
depth  beforehand,  it  might  save  the  trouble  of 
going  any  further. 


260  DELIA   BACON. 

"  I  wanted  to  have  my  book  published  before  I 
made  this  inquiry,  and  I  never  meant  to  have  my 
belief  on  this  point  known  until  I  had  had  an  op- 
portunity of  testing  it ;  but  some  one  to  whom  I 
told  it  in  the  most  sacred  confidence,  and  under  a 
solemn  promise  of  secresy,  caused  it  to  be  put  in 
the  newspapers,  and  it  has  been  published  all  over 
England  and  America.  My  comfort  was  that  a 
paragraph  in  the  newspapers  does  not  live  very 
long  if  there  is  nothing  to  fan  it. 

"  I  want  to  stay  here  all  winter.  I  like  Stratford. 
Shakespeare  was  right.  It  is  a  very  nice  comfort- 
able place  to  stop  in,  much  better  than  London  for 
a  person  of  a  genial  but  retiring  turn  of  mind. 
Some  time  while  I  am  here  I  expect  that  exami- 
nation to  be  made.  Perhaps  no  one  else  but  the 
person  who  7mist  be  present  (I  find)  will  know 
whe7i  it  happens.  Three  persons  in  this  town  know 
that  it  is  to  be  made.  They  are  the  persons  who 
have  the  power  and  right  to  permit  and  sanction 
it ;  they  are  sworn  to  secresy  in  case  of  its  failure. 
I  have  taken  the  clerk  and  the  vicar  into  my  con- 
fidence, and  the  vicar  has  consulted  a  friend  who 
is  at  the  same  time  a  lawyer  and  a  Stratford  man 
and  the  one  he  would  most  rely  on.  I  asked  the 
latter  for  leave  to  make  the  examination  alone,  and 
the  night  is  the  only  time  possible  for  it.  He  took 
my  request  into  consideration,  and  the  result  was 
that  he  found  it  would  not  be  consistent  with  the 
solemn  obligations  he  assumed  when  he  took  for- 


DELIA  BACON.  261 

mally  the  keys  of  the  church  from  the  wardens  of 
it,  to  allow  of  that.  It  was  no  want  of  confidence 
in  me.  If  Lord  Carlisle  should  make  the  same  re- 
quest, and  he  has  certainly  done  a  great  deal  for 
Stratford,  he  could  only  give  him  the  same  answer. 
He  knew  why  I  wished  for  secresy,  and  he  told  me 
if  I  would  not  object  to  the  presence  of  the  clerk, 
who  would  not,  he  thought,  betray  my  confidence, 
or  if  I  preferred  that  he  himself  should  accom- 
pany me,  he  would  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments for  accomplishing  my  wishes.  I  have  seen 
him  since  and  told  him  I  would  accept  his  offer, 
and  though  I  should  of  course  prefer  to  have  him 
there  it  might  be  a  tedious  operation ;  but  he  says 
he  should  not  mind  that  at  all,  and  from  his  last 
note  I  see  he  has  concluded  to  be  there  and  he 
only  waits  now  to  hear  from  me.  He  has  been  to 
see  me  twice  about  it,  and  there  has  been  consider- 
able correspondence.  He  is  ^High  Church,'  but  not 
affectedly  or  perhaps  very  zealously  religious,  and 
I  am  glad  he  is  not.  I  would  not  trust  a  very 
religious  man  as  I  shall  have  to  trust  him.  What 
between  justification,  and  free  will,  and  the  great- 
est good  of  the  greatest  number,  which,  practically 
applied,  means  number  one  for  the  time  being, 
there  is  quite  too  large  a  margin  left  for  a  case 
like  this.  This  man  is  a  gentleman  and  naturally 
a  fine  honorable  man,  which  is  much  more  to  the 
purpose.  '  Nature  hath  meal  and  bran '  in  the 
church  and  out  of  it.     The  arrangements  are  all 


262  DELIA   BACON. 

made,  but  they  are  made  as  if  I  were  absolutely 
certain  of  failure.  I  have  found  by  experiment 
that  I  can  make  the  examination  thoroughly,  and 
leave  the  stone  exactly  as  I  find  it,  and  I  could  do 
it  alone,  weak  as  I  am,  now,  without  any  one  to 
lift  a  finger  to  help  me.  I  have  promised  to  per- 
form the  experiment  without  removing  a  particle 
of  the  stone,  or  leaving  a  trace  of  harm,  and  what 
is  very  gratifying  to  me  under  the  circumstances, 
neither  the  clerk  nor  the  vicar  appears  disposed 
to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  am  insane.  I  have 
told  them  my  reasons  for  it.  The  archives  of  this 
secret  philosophical  society  are  buried  somewhere, 
perhaps  in  more  places  than  one.  The  evidence 
points  very  strongly  this  way,  it  points  to  a  tomb 
—  Lord  Bacon's  tomb  would  throw  some  light  on 
it  I  think.  Spenser's  /  know  contains,  or  did  when 
it  was  closed,  verses,  ^  and  the  pens  that  writ 
them,'  the  verses  of  his  brother  poets,  —  the  poets 
of  this  school,  —  Raleigh's  school.  .  .   . 

"  I  am  going  to  write  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne  as  soon 
as  I  can.  But  I  cannot  speak  now,  this  thing 
presses  on  me  so  heavily ;  the  terrors  of  it  are 
what  you  see.  If  I  could  do  it  alone  it  would  not 
be  so  fearful.  If  I  had  hope  enough  to  justify  it, 
I  would  insist  on  your  being  here.  But  I  have 
not.  The  conviction  that  I  ought  to  do  it  is  the 
strength  in  which  I  go  about  it.  The  vicar  is  very 
friendly  to  me ;  he  has  not  told  ^  a  human  being,' 
not  even  his  wife,  he  says,  or  he  had  not  until  I 


DELIA   BACON.  263 

gave  him  leave  to  take  advice  confidentially,  and 
therefore,  on  his  account  perhaps,  as  well  as  on 
account  of  what  I  have  said  about  my  brother,  this 
letter  ought  to  be  for  your  eye  only.  Don't  stop 
to  answer  this  letter.  If  you  will  read  it  that  is  all 
I  ask  —  at  present  —  I  have  been  waiting  till  the 
last  moment  to  write  it.  I  could  not  write  any 
less.  Truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacon." 

It  is  not  without  doubt  and  hesitation  that  it  has 
been  decided  to  make  publicly  known  these  letters 
that  follow.  But  it  has  seemed  right  that  this  part 
of  the  story  should  be  told  with  the  rest;  that  the 
inexhaustible  patience,  gentleness,  and  generosity 
of  Hawthorne  should  be  known,  as  ih.Qy  could  never 
be  but  by  showing  these  shrewd  trials  to  which 
they  were  submitted  ;  while  it  is  not  unjust  to  the 
memory  of  her  whose  life  was  now  consciously  end- 
ing, that  the  approach  should  be  shown  of  that  mad- 
ness which  nevertheless  had  not  yet  stricken  her. 
His  intercession  for  her  brother,  whom  he  did  not 
know,  —  seeking  by  gentle  words  to  turn  away 
from  him  imjust  accusation  ;  his  untiring  devotion 
to  the  purpose  which  was  all  that  she  was  now 
living  for;  only  served  to  involve  him,  the  most 
helpful  friend,  except  her  brother,  whom  she  had 
ever  known,  in  the  bitter  suspicion  and  anger 
which  is  so  often  the  earliest  sign  of  coming;  insan- 
ity.     Yet  misunderstanding,  ingratitude,  injustice, 


264  DELIA   BACON. 

could  not  turn  him  back  from  helping  her.  His 
clairvoyant  soul  could  see  through  it  all  the  sin- 
cere, earnest,  truthful  spirit  which  he  honored,  and 
would  serve,  even  against  its  consent. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  Oct.  21,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  send  a  post-office  order 
for  five  pounds,  payable  to  you  at  the  Stratford 
post-office. 

I  should  have  had,  probably,  some  decisive  in- 
telligence about  your  book,  if  my  friend  Mr.  Ben- 
noch  had  not  been  called  away  from  London  for  a 
few  days.  On  his  return,  we  shall  certainly  know 
about  it ;  and  the  news  shall  be  good  —  at  least, 
not  bad  —  though  all  the  fiends  fight  against  us. 

As  regards  your  brother,  it  is  to  be  considered 
that  he  is,  at  all  events,  a  brother,  and  cannot 
divest  himself  of  the  duties  of  that  relation.  And 
your  claims  upon  him  are  quite  independent  of  any 
injustice  on  his  part,  and  of  any  delicacy  of  feeling 
on  yours.  He  is  bound  to  help  you,  and  you  to  be 
helped  by  him,  just  the  same  as  if  he  had  the  high- 
est faith  in  yourself  and  your  deeds.  No  stranger 
has  a  right  to  interfere  in  your  behalf,  unless 
constrained  by  deep  interest  and  respect;  but  a 
brother  stands  on  quite  different  ground.  My  con- 
viction is  strong  that  you  ought  not  to  return  any 
money  that  he  may  remit.  Moreover  (taking  into 
consideration  as  much  of  his   character,    and   as 


DELIA    BACON.  2G5 

many  of  all  the  circumstances,  as  I  am  aware  of)  I 
can  see  that  his  sympathy  was  hardly  to  be  hoped 
for.  In  short,  I  mean  to  think  him  a  good  man 
yet. 

I  shall  not  (unless  you  give  me  leave)  show  your 
letter  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne. 
In  great  haste. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

Stratford-on-Avon,  October  22,  '56. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  I  have  received  your 
note  with  its  enclosure  of  five  pounds,  for  which  I 
thank  you.  As  to  my  last  letter,  I  put  it  entirely 
at  your  discretion.  You  may  publish  it  in  the 
newspapers  if  you  choose.  I  gave  you  two  reasons 
for  wishing  it  to  be  considered  confidential  for  the 
present,  but  of  these  the  first  appears  to  be  de- 
prived of  its  force  by  your  answer,  and  as  to  the 
second  I  know  Mrs.  Hawthorne  would  not  betray 
my  confidence  —  I  had  no  fear  as  to  that  —  but 
the  fact  is  it  was  very  foolish  for  me  to  write  on 
that  subject  at  all  at  present,  and  I  am  very  sorry 
that  I  did  so,  particularly  as  I  have  not  been  able 
to  accept  the  permission  given  me,  and  the  prob- 
ability is  that  I  shall  not  do  so.  I  may  feel  that  it 
is  better  not  to  make  the  inquiry  at  all  than  to 
make  it  under  such  conditions  and  liabilities.  And 
I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  at  present  any  strong  in- 


266  DELIA   BACON. 

clination  to  pursue  my  inquiries  on  this  subject  any 
further,  and  as  to  the  book,  my  feehng  at  this 
moment  is  that  there  would  be  very  Uttle  use  in 
pubhsliing  it  at  present.  All  the  evidence  of  my 
sanity  there  is,  you  have,  and  you  are  not  sur- 
prised at  the  imputations  my  brother  casts  on  me, 
and  certainly  the  world  is  not  likely  to  make  any 
more  favorable  judgment.  If  my  own  household 
and  the  world  are  against  me,  what  else  shall  we 
call  it  ?  But  it  cannot  be  that  I  am  alone,  —  a 
creature  by  myself  in  my  mental  constitution,  — 
and  if  I  am  out  of  my  way  here,  it  is  time  that  I 
was  looking  for  my  kindred  and  the  place  where 
my  judgment  of  the  true,  and  my  feeling  of  the 
just,  are  not  insanity.  Some  such  place  I  believe 
in. 

If  I  were  sure  that  my  brother  would  send  me 
any  money  I  would  send  this  back  to  you  at  once, 
for  I  feel  that  it  is  a  baseness  in  me  to  take  it,  but 
I  am  very  far  from  being  sure  of  that,  and  unfor- 
tunately I  had  encroached  on  this  before  it  came 
while  hoping  to  receive  some  from  another  source. 
As  to  my  expectation  from  my  brother,  it  was 
only  an  inference  of  mine  from  the  fact  that  he 
knew  exactly  my  circumstances,  and  that  he  spoke 
of  writing  again  in  a  few  days  in  a  connection  which 
seemed  to  imply  that  he  would  hardly  write  for  any 
other  purpose.  In  case  of  any  accident  to  myself, 
or  in  case  I  should  not  be  able  to  return  it  very 
soon,  I  wish  you  to  call  on  him  for  it,  and  for  the 


DELIA    BACON.  267 

rest  of  the  money  that  I  owe  you,  —  and  he  knows 
exactly  what  it  is,  —  and  tell  him  from  me  that  he 
is  bound  to  pay  it ;  for  in  defending  himself  from  a 
charge  against  which  there  was  no  defense,  he  has 
not  scrupled  to  deprive  me  of  the  resources  I  had 
left  in  the  affection  and  confidence  of  my  family 
and  my  friends,  and  he  has  not  even  scrupled  to 
impair  the  respect  which  under  these  hard  condi- 
tions I  had  won  from  strangers.  In  referring  to 
my  delusions  he  speaks  of  persons  "  who  humor  me 
by  affecting  to  believe  that  there  may  be  something 
in  them  because  they  tlunk  there  would  be  no  use 
in  opposhig  me  "  !  I  supposed  he  referred  to  Mr. 
Emerson.  I  knew  he  had  had  some  correspondence 
with  him,  and  I  suppose  that  Mr.  Emerson  really 
thinks  now,  that  that  is  the  course  he  has  taken. 
But  I  could  not  understand  why  your  so  favorable 
opinion  of  the  book  should  be  so  wholly  overlooked 
—  treated  as  if  it  had  not  been  expressed  —  in  all 
that  he  said  on  that  subject. 

But  I  should  be  sorry  to  involve  you  in  any 
further  correspondence  on  so  painful  a  subject.  It 
was  necessary  for  me  to  write  this.  I  sincerely 
hope  that  you  will  not  think  it  necessary  to  reply 
to  it.  As  to  the  book,  I  do  not  trouble  myself 
much  about  that  now.  I  have  cast  it  on  the  waters, 
and  if  I  do  not  find  it  again,  the  world  will. 

Truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 


268  DELIA   BACON. 

You  must  not  answer  this.  It  is  a  small  matter 
to  you.  You  have  nothing  at  stake.  Any  one 
would  say  that  you  were  perhaps  called  upon  to 
say  exactly  what  you  did,  but  this  I  had  to  write 
and  my  life  depends  now  on  my  not  reading  any 
more  letters. 

That  is  literally  true  I  believe,  and  I  cannot 
squander  at  this  fearful  rate  that  which  is  so  pre- 
cious. I  have  done  with  this.  I  will  have  no  more 
letters  I  say  from  brothers  or  strangers,  friends  or 
foes.  My  experience  for  the  last  few  days  shows 
that  I  am  not  equal  to  it,  so  I  am  obliged  to  take 
this  resolution. 

October  23,  '56. 

P.  S.  This  is  what  I  wrote  yesterday.  But  I 
cannot  let  it  go  as  it  is.  It  does  no  justice  at  all  to 
the  feeling  with  which  I  have  received  your  letter, 
or  to  the  position  in  which  I  am  placed  by  it.  And 
I  cannot  return  you  this  money  immediately,  as  of 
course  you  thought  I  w^ould,  when  you  wrote  that. 
Whatever  other  ill  you  thought  of  me  you  did  not 
think  I  could  keep  it,  —  you  did  not  think  me 
capable  of  that !  —  and  yet  you  knew  I  must. 
For  that  letter  which  it  nearly  cost  me  my  life  to 
write,  put  you  in  possession  of  the  case  entirely. 
But  I  see  how  it  is.  You  have  heard  some  bad 
news  about  my  book.  You  have  ascertained  that 
it  has  no  pecuniary  value,  and  the  other  part  of 
my  work  of  which  I  wrote  is  in  that  case  not  avail- 


DELIA   BACON.  269 

able,  and  you  think  that  I  have  nothing  else  to 
depend  on,  and  that  what  I  said  about  promptly 
helping  myself  as  soon  as  this  one  more  requisi- 
tion was  fulfilled,  meant  nothing,  or  that  it  was 
only  some  vague,  impracticable  purpose  that  I  was 
weakly  relying  on.  But  that  you  should  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  w^ite  in  that  manner  to  me 
at  just  this  time,  as  if  I  were  a  person  of  such 
hardened  sensibilities  that  something  less,  or  some- 
thing different,  would  not  have  sufficed  —  that  is 
what  I  do  not  understand.  I  will  show  you  how 
much  of  the  feeling  I  have  left  that  you  thought 
me  wanting  in,  —  that  you  must  have  thought  me 
wanting  in,  or  you  could  not  have  written  that  to 
me  at  the  moment  in  which  I  was  asking  you  for 
money,  and  taking  it  from  you.  I  will  tell  you 
exactl}^  how  much  of  that  feeling  T  have  left.  You 
cannot  help  me  any  more  after  writing  that  to  me. 
If  you  had  the  keys  of  heaven  you  could  not.  Ay, 
but  I  keep  this  money,  —  so  I  do.  —  You  do  not 
understand  that,  —  but  you  shall.  If  I  do  not  pay 
you  in  one  month,  —  and  the  chance  that  I  shall  is 
small,  but  I  ask  that  time  —  write  to  my  brother 
for  it.  He  shall  know  what  't  is  to  have  a  sister 
with  such  a  name  as  I  have.  I  will  not  take  my 
book  out  of  your  hands  because  I  do  not  know  but 
it  may  have  some  pecuniary  value  after  all,  and  if 
it  has  it  is  properly  yours  at  least  until  you  have 
been  paid  for  what  I  owe  you.  But  what  I  desire 
is  that  you  should  have  no  more  trouble  with  it. 


270  DELIA   BACON. 

I  will  not  have  a  novel  made  out  of  it  as  my 
brother  proposes  that  I  should.  I  will  not  have 
my  monomania  converted  into  never  so  profitable 
a  speculation,  and  this  life  and  death  earnest  of 
mine  is  not  going  to  be  published  either  for  the 
amusement  or  contempt  of  the  world.  Seal  it  up 
and  wait  till  it  is  true. 

Truly  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  October  24,  '56. 

My  dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  do  not  know  what 
reply  to  make  to  your  last  note.  Indeed,  when 
people  misunderstand  me,  I  seldom  take  the 
trouble  (and  never  should,  on  my  own  account)  to 
attempt  to  set  them  right.  I  meant,  when  I  be- 
gan this  scrawl,  to  say  something  in  my  own  de- 
fence ;  but  I  find  it  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it 
—  so  we  will  let  it  pass.  By  telling  me  what  was 
the  state  of  affairs  between  yourself  and  your 
brother,  you  made  it  my  duty  to  give  you  the  best 
advice  I  could ;  and,  on  further  reflection,  I  find 
my  opinion  precisely  the  same  as  it  was  at  first. 
And,  seeing  with  his  eyes,  I  cannot  wonder  at  his 
acting  as  he  has. 

My  opinion  of  the  book  has  never  varied  ;  nor 
have  I,  up  to  this  moment,  spared  any  effort  to 
bring  it  before  the  public,  nor  relinquished  any 
hope  of  doing  so. 


DELIA   BACON.  271 

I  suppose  it  would  be  in  vain  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  never  thought,  for  an  instant,  of  any  miser- 
able little  interest  that  I  inio;ht  have,  in  the  sue- 
cess  of  the  book,  or  in  your  being  on  sisterly  terms 
with  your  brother.  But  really  I  don't  think  you 
construe  me  very  generously. 

However,  you  will  find  me  always  just  the  same 
as  I  have  been ;  and  if  ever  I  seem  otherwise,  the 
fault  is  in  the  eyes  that  look  at  me.  Nor  do  I 
pretend  to  be  very  good  ;  there  are  hundreds  of 
kinder  and  better  people  in  the  world  ;  but  such 
as  I  am,  I  am  genuine,  and  in  keeping  with  my- 
self. And,  in  honest  truth,  my  dear  Miss  Bacon, 
I  wish  to  do  you  what  good  I  can. 

Hoping  that,  one  day  or  other,  you  will  be  able 
to  believe  this,  I  say  no  more. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

P.  S.  Can  you  possibly  have  thought  that  I 
suggested  your  brother's  advice  to  turn  the  book 
into  a  novel  ?     I  am  afraid  you  did. 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

STnATFORD-ON-AvoN,  October  29,  1856. 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  You  did  not  under- 
stand my  last  letter  and  I  will  not  undertake  to 
explain  it.  I  supposed  that  you  felt  compelled  to 
write  as  you  did.  I  attributed  it  to  your  sense  of 
duty  and  your  view  of  the  proprieties  of  the  case. 


272  DELIA  BACON. 

I  did  not  call  in  question  a  disinterestedness  and 
generosity  of  character  to  which  I  have  not  found 
any  parallel.  I  kept  your  note  24  hours  without 
opening  it,  because  I  was  literally  unable  to  open 
it,  and  I  have  not  answered  it,  because  the  expla- 
nation which  it  seemed  to  require  did  not  appear 
to  me  possible.  I  have  written  one  or  two  notes 
denying  that  I  had  made  any  such  charge  as  the 
ones  you  attributed  to  me,  but  the  very  denial 
seemed  insulting  to  you  when  I  saw  it  on  paper, 
and  I  would  not  send  them. 

I  had  just  prepared  an  answer  however  of  half 
a  dozen  lines  or  so,  that  you  might  not  miscon- 
strue my  silence,  when  I  received  this  morning  a 
note  from  Mr.  Bennoch  informing  me  that  your 
efforts  and  his  on  behalf  of  my  w^ork  had  been 
successful,  so  I  have  concluded  to  send  you  this 
that  my  acknowledgment  of  what  I  owe  you  may 
accompany  what  I  had  said  already.  My  last  let- 
ter but  one,  contained  allusions  to  subjects  which 
I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of,  confidentially 
or  otherwise,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  that  you 
have  destroyed  it. 

The  fact  that  these  particular  publishers  under- 
take the  publication  of  my  work  happens  fortu- 
nately to  indicate  exactly  what  it  owes  you.  When 
the  subject  was  first  presented  to  Carlyle  three 
years  and  a  half  ago  he  selected  Mr.  Parker  as  the 
proper  person  to  represent  the  English  public  on 
that  question,  and  proposed  to  take  my  article  to 


DELIA   BACON.  273 

him,  giving  me  to  understand  that  we  were  to 
abide  by  his  decision,  which  was  to  determine 
whether  the  thing  could  go  on  here  or  not.  You 
know  what  the  fate  of  the  article  was,  and  this 
very  book  which  he  accepts  now  at  your  hands 
and  the  hands  of  your  friend  he  refused  at  mine 
more  than  a  year  ago. 

His  acceptance  of  the  book  is  in  itself  a  success 
which  you  can  hardly  estimate  though  I  owe  it  to 
you,  because  it  relieves  me  on  the  instant  from 
the  charge  to  which  my  belief  on  this  subject  has 
it  seems  made  me  liable.  At  least  that  question 
will  now  be  before  the  world,  and  I  shall  not  be 
any  longer  at  the  mercy  of  men  whose  mercies, 
when  their  own  opinions  and  beliefs  are  called  in 
question,  are  so  small.  But  for  the  sake  of  all  my 
friends,  —  for  my  brother's  sake  and  for  your  sake, 
I  am  glad  of  this. 

And  I  hope  you  will  not  have  any  occasion  to 
be  sorry  for  your  part  in  it.  If  any  good  comes 
of  it,  you  will  know  just  how  much  of  it  is  the 
result  of  your  persevering  and  most  noble  efforts 
on  its  behalf.  For  it  would  have  been  a  private 
manuscript  only  and  never  a  book  but  for  you. 
No  one  would  have  dared  so  much  as  to  read  it,  no 
one  had  dared  to  read  it  till  it  found  you.  I  had 
exhausted  all  my  means  of  getting  it  published,  I 
had  tried  everything  but  you.  And  the  reason  I 
had  not  applied  to  you  sooner  was,  I  did  not  think 
it  would   be   possible   for  you  with  your  official 


274  DELIA  BACON. 

duties  combined  with  your  own  engagements  as  an 
author  to  give  the  attention  to  tlie  work  which  it 
would  be  necessary  to  give  in  order  to  help  it  at 
all.  I  had  tried  authors  who  were  not  consuls, 
and  who  were  most  kindly  disposed  to  me,  and 
who  wished  to  help  me,  but  could  not  for  lack  of 
time.  For  your  sake  I  hope  it  will  succeed,  and 
that  you  will  not  suffer  my  unfortunate  personal 
relations  to  you  just  at  this  time  to  detract  from 
the  satisfaction  that  you  might  otherwise  feel  in 
achieving  anything  so  difficult.  That  Mr.  Parker 
should  publish  it  after  all  is  indeed  a  proof  of  what 
you  were  able  to  do  for  me. 

Gratefully  yours, 

Delia  Bacon. 

It  was  on  the  day  of  this  last  date  that  Mr.  Ben- 
noch  began  his  correspondence  with  her,  which 
was  to  be  for  six  months  so  frequent.  It  can 
easily  be  gathered  from  these  letters  that  it  was 
upon  some  personal  guaranty  by  Hawthorne  him- 
self that  the  very  considerable  expense  of  print- 
ing the  book  was  incurred  by  Parker  —  w^hose 
name,  however,  was  after  all  not  to  appear  on  its 
title-page. 

At  the  same  time  with  this  new  life  that  came 
to  her,  she  was  making  one  more  attempt  to  ex- 
plore the  secret  of  the  tomb.  Another  —  and  the 
last  —  note  from  the  vicar,  on  the  31st  of  October, 
tells  her :  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  accompany  you  to 


DELIA   BACON.  275 

the  Church  at  any  time  convenient  to  yourself,  as 
a  preUminary  step,  and  will  then  arrange  a  time 
for  further  operations  when  we  shall  be  undis- 
turbed." Whether  he  was  meaning  thus  to  humor 
the  vagaries  of  an  misound  mind  —  of  which  the 
unsoundness  certainly  had  not  declared  itself  to  all 
people  —  or  had  really  changed  his  mind,  and  was 
willing  to  take  part  in  examining  almost  the  only 
famous  grave  in  England  which  has  never  been 
disturbed,  is  not  easy  now  to  tell.  But  the  explo- 
ration has,  in  fact,  never  yet  been  made. 

Not  long  after  this,  too,  comes  in  upon  her 
another  kindly  breath  from  the  world  which  she 
has  shut  out  from  herself.  In  July  before,  Car- 
lyle  had  written  to  Emerson  :  "  I  have  not  seen  or 
distinctly  heard  of  Miss  Bacon  for  a  year  and  a 
half  past:  I  often  ask  myself,  what  has  become  of 
that  poor  Lady,  and  wish  I  knew  of  her  being  safe 
among  her  friends  again.  I  have  even  lost  the  ad- 
dress (which  at  any  rate  was  probably  not  a  lasting 
one) ;  perhaps  I  could  find  it  by  the  eye,  —  but 
it  is  five  miles  away ;  and  my  non  plus  ultra 
for  years  past  is  not  above  half  that  distance. 
Heigho !  "  ^  But  now,  w^hen  at  last  she  felt  that 
she  was  above  the  need  of  friends,  her  pride  no 
longer  disdained  to  speak  to  them. 

*  Correspondence  of  Carlyle  and  Emerson^  vol.  ii.  p.  265. 


276  DELIA  BACON. 

[Carltle  to  D.  B.] 

Chelsea,  14  December,  1856. 

Dear  Miss  Bacon,  —  I  am  greatly  pleased  to 
hear  of  you  again :  my  thoughts  about  you  have 
been  many,  and  my  inquiries  many  in  America 
and  here  ;  but  nothing  would  come  out  of  them. 
Not  very  long  since,  —  having  a  House  in  these 
days,  and  your  old  lodging  having  thus  become 
accessible  to  me  again,  I  pulled  at  the  bell  of  the 
old  House-door  (House  and  Street  recognizable  to 
me  by  eyesight,  title  of  them  entirely  forgotten), 
pulled  there  for  several  minutes,  again  and  again : 
but  nobody  would  answer;  —  I  considered  withal 
that  probably  nobody  might  in  the  least  know. 

But  now  we  again  hear  from  yourself ;  that  you 
are  still  well ;  nay  more,  that  you  have  achieved 
a  manifest  success  in  what  has  long  been  the  grand 
Problem  of  your  life.  Well  done  !  This  must  be 
a  greater  joy  to  you  than  health  itself,  or  any 
other  blessing :  and  I  must  say  that  by  your  stead- 
fastness you  have  deserved  it !  —  You  could  not 
have  a  better  Publisher  than  Parker ;  I  am  really 
thankful,  along  with  you,  that  your  word  is  at  last 
to  go  forth. 

My  incredulity  of  your  Thesis  I  have  never 
hidden  from  you :  but  I  willingly  vote,  and  have 
voted,  you  should  be  heard  on  it  to  full  length ; 
and  this,  whatever  farther  come  of  it,  will  be  a 
profit  to  the  world,  and  to  yourself  —  I  need  not 
say  what  profit  it  will  be ! 


DELIA   BACON.  277 

When  you  return  to  London  let  us,  so  soon  as 
possible,  see  you  again.  We  are  in  our  old  way, 
except  that  my  Wife  is  rather  poorlier  than  in 
common  Winters  (which  are  always  unkind  to 
her),  and  that  1  myself  am  sunk  deeper  than  ever 
towards  the  very  centre  of  Chaos,  —  in  fact  over- 
whelmed with  such  a  mud-ocean  of  confusions  and 
inexecutable  businesses,  late  and  early,  as  are  WkQ 
to  drown  me  altogether,  I  sometimes  think.  But 
they  won't  either !  Yours  always, 

T.  Caelyle. 

During  almost  four  months,  from  October  to 
February,  while  Hawthorne  was  left  wholly  un- 
disturbed by  his  importunate  correspondent,  ag- 
grieved as  she  was  by  his  very  kindness  and 
unselfishness,  there  raged  nevertheless  an  almost 
daily  storm  of  letters  between  her  and  Mr.  Ben- 
noch  and  the  printer.  In  all  Mr.  Bennoch's  letters 
there  is  manifest  a  lively  appreciation  of  the 
woman  with  whose  singular  work  he  had  been  put 
in  charge,  and  even  of  the  work  itself  ;  and  with  it 
all,  such  keen  good  sense  and  judicious  tact  in  deal- 
ing with  her  strong  and  obstinate  temper,  as  more 
than  justified  Hawthorne's  choice  of  his  friend  for 
so  delicate  a  service.  It  is  evident  that  the  title  of 
the  book  was  a  subject  of  continual  discussion ;  on 
the  backs  of  the  letters  she  received  are  countless 
experiments,  in  her  own  hand,  toward  the  selection 
of  a  title ;  and  that  ultimately  adopted,  although 


278  DELIA   BACON. 

with  Mr.  Bennoch's  frank  approval,  was  the  result 
of  mutual  concessions  on  either  side. 

There  arose,  however,  a  trouble  of  a  serious 
kind.  It  was  only  upon  the  condition  that  the 
book  should  have  an  Introduction  by  Hawthorne 
that  Parker  had  at  all  consented  to  publish  it ;  and 
such  an  introduction  the  author  seems  to  have 
determined,  at  last,  not  to  have.  This  determi- 
nation, the  cause  of  which  is  easy  to  find  in  the 
offended  pride  which  is  discovered  in  her  latest 
letters  to  him,  Mr.  Bennoch  seems  in  some  way  to 
have  succeeded  in  overcoming  ;  although  when  at 
last  it  came,  she  would  receive  it  only  upon  altera- 
tions rigorously  insisted  upon  by  her  and  amiably 
yielded  by  him.  But  she  was  not  thus  prevailed 
upon  until  her  refusal  of  the  Preface  had  brought 
Parker,  after  the  printers'  work  had  been  almost 
completed  upon  Mr.  Bennoch's  personal  guaranty 
of  payment,  to  refuse  on  his  part  to  publish  it. 
The  best  that,  upon  this  grievous  failure  of  plan, 
could  still  be  done  was  done  by  Mr.  Bennoch.  He 
made  new  arrangements  for  the  almost  completed 
work  with  a  house  far  less  known  than  Parker's 
although  entirely  respectable  :  the  house  of  Groom- 
bridge  and  Sons,  under  whose  name  the  book  was 
not  many  days  after  given  to  the  world. 

Meanwhile  the  author  had  been  so  far  prevailed 
upon  as  to  address  to  Hawthorne  this  cold  and 
distant  note :  — 


DELIA   BACON.  279 

[D.  B.  TO  Hawthorne.] 

Stratford-on-Avon,  February  10,  1857, 

Dear  Mr.  Hawthorne,  —  My  part  in  this  work 
is  I  believe  nearly  done.  I  am  finishing  in  great 
haste  a  few  more  pages  for  the  Introduction,  which 
I  expect  to  send  to-morrow.  The  printer  writes 
me  to-day  that  he  is  now  waiting  for  your  preface 
and  wishes  me  to  write  to  you  for  it.  Of  course  I 
understood  that  you  preferred  that  the  correspond- 
ence should  be  conducted  through  Mr.  Bennoch, 
to  whose  kind  interest  in  the  subject  I  owe  so 
much,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  on  that  account 
what  you  have  done  and  are  doing  for  the  work. 

I  do  not  look  on  it  as  a  private  enterprise.  I 
had  contributed  what  I  could  to  it,  and  I  did  not 
call  for  help  till  my  own  power  failed.  You  have 
caused  it  to  be  published,  and  I  hope  you  will  con- 
tinue to  give  it  whatever  aid  it  may  seem  to  you 
to  deserve  and  require.  I  consider  that  you  have 
a  part  in  the  work  which  is  properly  yours.  As  to 
my  own  personal  obligations  to  you,  I  will  not  now 
speak  of  them.  I  have  good  hopes  of  an  acquittal 
that  will  pay  all  debts  soon,  and  that  you  and  no 
one  else  will  have  occasion  to  regret  the  aid  you 
have  given  me. 

Truly  yours, 

D.  Bacon. 


280  DELIA   BACON. 

[Hawthorne  to   D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  February  11,  1857. 

Dear  Miss  Bacox,  —  I  wrote  the  Preface  yes- 
terday, and  am  now  about  forwarding  it  to  Ben- 
noch.  It  has  been  delayed  by  the  difficulty  of 
getting  a  minute's  clear  space  from  daily  interrup- 
tions ;  and,  indeed,  ever  since  I  have  had  your  book 
in  hand,  my  mind  has  been  continually  torn  in  tat- 
ters ;  so  that  I  have  had  no  right  to  deal  with  a 
work  demanding,  at  least,  all  the  mind  with  which 
nature  gifted  me. 

My  preface  comprises  extracts  from  the  article 
which  you  sent  Bennoch,  and  which  he  and  I 
thought  it  better  not  to  publish.  I  have  said  all 
the  external  things  that  seemed  to  me  necessary, 
in  order  to  put  you  fairly  before  the  public,  and 
have  stated  what  I  think  as  to  the  merit  of  the 
work.  It  is  possible  that  you  may  say,  in  your 
new  Introduction,  some  things  which  I  have 
already  said  for  you ;  but  this  is  no  great  matter. 

Do  not  consider  yourself  under  any  personal 
obligations  to  me.  I  appreciate  the  spirit  in 
which  you  sought  my  assistance,  and  did  not  pre- 
sume to  burthen  you,  even  in  my  secret  thoughts, 
with  the  imposition  of  personal  favors. 
Truly  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

What  still  harsher  and  unkinder  rebuff  may 
have  followed  this  grave  and  gentle  letter  does  not 


DELIA   BACON.  281 

now  appear;  Hawthorne  seems  not  to  have  pre- 
served it,  perhaps  out  of  consideration  for  the 
writer.  But  it  may  be  guessed  from  this  which 
he  wrote  in  reply. 

[Hawthorne  to  D.  B.] 

Liverpool,  February  19,  '57. 

Dear  Author  of  this  Book,  —  (For  you  forbid 
me  to  call  you  anything  else),  I  utterly  despair  of 
being  able  to  satisfy  you  with  a  preface.  The 
extracts  which  I  made  from  your  Introduction  were 
such  as  seemed  essential  to  me,  and  likely  to  be  of 
good  effect  with  the  Public.  It  seems  to  me  they 
had  better  remain. 

In  one  of  your  early  letters  to  me,  you  said  that 
I  might  call  the  book  a  Romance,  or  whatever  I 
would.  I  have  not  called  it  anything  of  the  kind, 
but  have  merely  refrained  from  expressing  a  full 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  your  theory.  But  the 
book  will  be  in  the  hands  of  the  public.  Let  the 
public  judge ;  as  it  must.  Nothing  that  I  could 
say,  beforehand,  could  influence  its  judgment;  and 
I  do  not  agree  with  your  opinion  that  I  have  said 
anything  likely  to  prevent  your  cause  being  heard. 

Nevertheless,  I  am  most  willing  to  burn  the 
Preface  at  once.  I  desire  quite  as  little  as  you  do 
to  be  known  in  reference  to  this  work  ;  and  I  have 
a  right  not  to  be  known.^     Pray  do  not  think  of 

1  Written  in  the  margin,  with  reference  by  an  asterisk:  "I  mean, 
I  have  no  r'ujht  to  be  known." 


282  DELIA   BACON. 

dedicating  it  to  me.  You  owe  me  no  such  ac- 
knowledgment; and,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
would  not  gratify  me  in  the  least. 

No  better  method  of  solving  the  difficulty  occurs 
to  me,  than  to  submit  the  Preface  to  Mr.  Parker. 
If  he  thinks  it  will  do  harm,  let  him  say  so,  as  he 
will  do  readily  enough,  being  materially  interested 
on  that  point. 

I  have  no  time  to  write  more,  but  must  leave  the 
matter  with  yourself  and  Parker  and  Bennoch,  and 
any  other  adviser  (for  instance,  Mr.  Carlyle)  whom 
you  choose  to  call  in. 

Truly  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

Just  at  this  time  her  brother  in  America,  failing, 
as  she  had  assured  Hawthorne  he  should  fail,  to 
get  further  news  from  her,  was  writing  for  news 
to  Hawthorne.  How  sincere  and  truthful  Haw- 
thorne had  been,  both  in  his  laudations  of  her 
work  and  his  admonitions  concerning  its  prospects, 
may  be  seen  in  what  he  says  to  her  brother,  for 
no  one's  eyes  but  his. 

U.  S.  CONSULATK, 

Liverpool,  Feb.  26,  '57. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  Your  sister  is  still  at  Stratford- 
on-Avon,  and  was  in  her  usual  state  of  health 
when  I  last  heard  from  her,  about  a  week  ago.  I 
have  forwarded  your  letter. 


DELIA    BACON.  283 

Her  book  is  now  in  print,  and  will  probably  be 
published  in  this  country  and  in  America,  within  a 
few  weeks.  It  will  undoubtedly  do  her  credit,  in- 
tellectually, and  may  perhaps  make  many  converts 
to  her  theory ;  but  I  do  not  anticipate  a  very  gen- 
eral success,  in  this  latter  respect.  Her  own  anti- 
cipations, I  believe,  are  very  sanguine.  It  will,  I 
think,  be  better  received  in  America  than  here ; 
and  this  may  perhaps  operate  as  an  inducement  to 
her  to  return  home.  At  all  events,  she  will  soon 
know  what  her  position  really  is,  and  will  doubt- 
less regulate  her  proceedings  in  accordance  with  it. 
Very  respectfully  yours, 

Nath'  Hawthorne. 

Rev.  Dr.  Bacon, 
New  Haven, 

Conn. 


XVII. 

About  the  beginning  of  April,  1857,  the  book 
came  before  the  world. 

Its  title,  so  long  and  so  laboriously  disputed, 
was  this: 

"  The  Philosophy  of  The  Plays  of  Shakspere 
Unfolded.  By  Delia  Bacon.  With  a  Preface  by 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  Author  of  '  The  Scarlet 
Letter,'  etc." 

Upon  the  copies  sent  to  the  American  market 
the  name  of  Ticknor  &  Fields,  Boston,  replaced 
that  of  the  London  publishers. 

It  was  in  form  an  octavo,  of  about  seven  hun- 
dred pages,  including  a  hundred  pages,  separately 
numbered,  of  the  author's  "  Introduction."  This 
"  Introduction,"  after  a  statement,  not  too  compact 
or  clear,  of  "  The  Proposition,"  contained  a  review 
of  "  The  Age  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  Elizabethan 
Men  of  Letters ; "  extracts  from  an  altogether 
separate,  and  unpublished.  Life  of  Raleigh ;  "  Ra- 
leigh's School,"  and  '^'  The  New  Academy." 

The  Historical  Argument,  begun  so  brilliantly 
in  her  Putnam  article,  was  expressly  omitted  here, 
and  its  omission  announced. 

Book  I.,  on  "  The  Elizabethan  Art  of  Delivery 


DELIA  BACON.  285 

and  Tradition,"  is  in  two  Parts :  "  Michael  de  Mon- 
taigne's '  Private  and  Retired  Arts,'  "  and  "  The 
Baconian  Rhetoric,  or  The  Method  of  Progres- 
sion." 

Book  II.,  on  "Elizabethan  *  Secrets  of  Morality 
and  Policy ' ;  or.  The  Fables  of  the  New  Learn- 
ing," was  also  in  two  Parts :  "  Lear's  Philosopher," 
and  (Part  II.)  "  Jidius  Coesar  and  Coriolanus  :  The 
Scientific  Cure  of  the  Common-Weal." 

To  all  was  prefixed  this  Preface,  which  Haw- 
thorne, under  so  many  discouragements,  had  writ- 
ten for  it. 

PREFACE. 

This  Volume  contains  the  argument,  drawn  from 
the  Plays  usually  attributed  to  Shakspere,  in  sup- 
port of  a  theory  which  the  author  of  it  has  de- 
monstrated by  historical  evidences  in  another  work. 
Having  never  read  this  historical  demonstration 
(which  remains  still  in  manuscript,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  preliminary  chapter,  published  long  ago 
in  an  American  periodical),  I  deem  it  necessary  to 
cite  the  author's  own  account  of  it :  — 

"  The  Historical  Part  of  this  work  (which  was 
originally  the  principal  part,  and  designed  to  fur- 
nish the  historical  key  to  the  great  Ehzabethan 
writings),  though  now  for  a  long  time  completed 
and  ready  for  the  press,  and  though  repeated  ref- 
erence is  made  to  it  in  this  volume,  is,  for  the  most 
part,  omitted  here.     It  contains  a  true  and  before 


286  DELIA   BACON. 

unwritten  history,  and  it  will  yet,  perhaps,  be  pub- 
lished as  it  stands ;  but  the  vivid  and  accumulating 
historic  detail,  with  which  more  recent  research 
tends  to  enrich  the  earlier  statement,  and  disclos- 
ures which  no  invention  could  anticipate,  are  wait- 
ing now  to  be  subjoined  to  it. 

"  The  INTERNAL  EVIDENCE  of  the  assumptions 
made  at  the  outset  is  that  which  is  chiefly  relied 
on  in  the  work  now  first  presented  on  this  subject 
to  the  public.  The  demonstration  will  be  found 
complete  on  that  ground ;  and  on  that  ground 
alone  the  author  is  willing,  and  deliberately  pre- 
fers, for  the  present,  to  rest  it. 

"  External  evidence,  of  course,  will  not  be  want- 
ing ;  there  will  be  enough  and  to  spare,  if  the 
demonstration  here  be  correct.  But  the  author  of 
the  discovery  was  not  willing  to  rob  the  world  of 
this  great  question  ;  but  wished  rather  to  share 
with  it  the  benefit  which  the  true  solution  of  the 
Problem  offers  —  the  solution  prescribed  by  those 
who  propounded  it  to  the  future.  It  seemed 
better  to  save  to  the  world  the  power  and  beauty 
of  this  demonstration,  its  intellectual  stimulus,  its 
demand  on  the  judgment.  It  seemed  better,  that 
the  world  should  acquire  it  also  in  the  form  of 
criticism,  instead  of  being  stupefied  and  overpow- 
ered with  the  mere  force  of  an  irresistible,  exter- 
nal, historical  proof.  Persons  incapable  of  appre- 
ciating any  other  kind  of  truth,  —  those  who  are 
capable  of    nothing  that  does  not  '  directly  fall 


DELIA   BACON.  287 

Tinder  and  strike  ihe  senses,'  as  Lord  Bacon  ex- 
presses it,  —  will  have  their  time  also ;  but  it  was 
proposed  to  present  the  subject  first  to  minds  of 
another  order." 

In  the  present  volume,  accordingly,  the  author 
applies  herself  to  the  demonstration  and  develop- 
ment of  a  system  of  philosophy,  which  has  pre- 
sented itself  to  her  as  underlying  the  superficial 
and  ostensible  text  of  Shakspere's  plays.  Traces 
of  the  same  philosophy,  too,  she  conceives  herself 
to  have  found  in  the  acknowledged  works  of  Lord 
Bacon,  and  in  those  of  other  writers  contemporary 
with  him.  All  agree  in  one  system;  all  these 
traces  indicate  a  common  understanding  and  unity 
of  purpose  in  men  among  whom  no  brotherhood 
has  hitherto  been  suspected,  except  as  representa- 
tives of  a  grand  and  brilliant  age,  when  the  human 
intellect  made  a  marked  step  in  advance. 

The  author  did  not  (as  her  own  consciousness 
assures  her)  either  construct  or  originally  seek  this 
new  philosophy.  In  many  respects,  if  I  have 
rightly  understood  her,  it  was  at  variance  with  her 
preconceived  opinions,  whether  ethical,  religious, 
or  political.  She  had  been  for  years  a  student  of 
Shakspere,  looking  for  nothing  in  his  plays  beyond 
what  the  world  has  agreed  to  find  in  them,  when 
she  began  to  see,  under  the  surface,  the  gleam  of 
this  hidden  treasure.  It  was  carefully  hidden,  in- 
deed, yet  not  less  carefully  indicated,  as  with  a 
pointed  finger,  by  such  marks  and  references  as 


288  DELIA   BACON. 

could  not  ultimately  escape  the  notice  of  a  subse- 
quent age,  which  should  be  capable  of  profiting 
by  the  rich  inheritance.  So,  too,  in  regard  to  Lord 
Bacon.  The  author  of  this  volume  had  not  sought 
to  put  any  but  the  ordinary  and  obvious  interpre- 
tation upon  his  works,  nor  to  take  any  other  view 
of  his  character  than  what  accorded  with  the 
unanimous  judgment  upon  it  of  all  the  generations 
since  his  epoch.  But,  as  she  penetrated  more  and 
more  deeply  into  the  plays,  and  became  aware  of 
those  inner  readings,  she  found  herself  compelled 
to  turn  back  to  the  "Advancement  of  Learning" 
for  information  as  to  their  plan  and  purport ;  and 
Lord  Bacon's  Treatise  failed  not  to  give  her  what 
she  sought ;  thus  adding  to  the  immortal  dramas, 
in  her  idea,  a  far  higher  value  than  their  warmest 
admirers  had  heretofore  claimed  for  them.  They 
filled  out  the  scientific  scheme  which  Bacon  had 
planned,  and  which  needed  only  these  profound 
and  vivid  illustrations  of  human  life  and  character 
to  make  it  perfect.  Finally,  the  author's  re- 
searches led  her  to  a  point  where  she  found  the 
plays  claimed  for  Lord  Bacon  and  his  associates,  — 
not  in  a  way  that  was  meant  to  be  intelligible  in 
their  own  perilous  times,  —  but  in  characters  that 
only  became  legible,  and  illuminated,  as  it  were, 
in  the  light  of  a  subsequent  period. 

The  reader  will  soon  perceive  that  the  new  phi- 
losophy, as  here  demonstrated,  was  of  a  kind  that 
no  professor  could  have  ventured  openly  to  teach 


DELIA   BACON.  289 

in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  and  James.  The  conchid- 
ing  chapter  of  the  present  work  makes  a  powerful 
statement  of  the  position  which  a  man,  conscious  of 
great  and  noble  aims,  would  then  have  occupied ; 
and  shows,  too,  how  familiar  the  age  was  with  all 
methods  of  secret  communication,  and  of  hiding 
thought  beneath  a  masque  of  conceit  or  folly.  Ap- 
plieably  to  this  subject  I  quote  a  paragraph  from  a 
manuscript  of  the  author's,  not  intended  for  pres- 
ent publication :  — 

"  It  was  a  time  when  authors,  who  treated  of  a 
scientific  politics  and  of  a  scientific  ethics  inter- 
nally connected  with  it,  naturally  preferred  this 
more  philosophic,  symbolic  method  of  indicating 
their  connection  with  their  writings,  which  would 
limit  the  indication  to  those  who  could  pierce 
within  the  veil  of  a  philosophic  symbolism.  It  was 
the  time  when  the  cipher,  in  which  one  could 
write  '  omnia  jycr  omnia,'  was  in  such  request,  and 
when  ^  wheel  ciphers  '  and  ^  doubles '  were  thought 
not  unworthy  of  philosophic  notice.  It  was  a 
time,  too,  when  the  phonographic  art  was  culti- 
vated, and  put  to  other  uses  than  at  present,  and 
when  a  nom  de  plume  was  required  for  other  pur- 
poses than  to  serve  as  the  refuge  of  an  author's 
modesty,  or  vanity,  or  caprice.  It  w^as  a  time 
when  puns,  and  charades,  and  enigmas,  and  ana- 
grams, and  monograms,  and  ciphers,  and  puzzles, 
were  not  good  for  sport  and  child's  play  merely ; 
when  they  had  need  to  be  close ;  when  they  had 


290  DELIA   BACON. 

need  to  be  solvable,  at  least,  only  to  those  who 
should  soloe  them.  It  was  a  time  when  all  the 
latent  capacities  of  the  English  language  were  put 
in  requisition,  and  it  was  flashing  and  crackling, 
through  all  its  lengths  and  breadths,  with  puns  and 
quips,  and  conceits,  and  jokes,  and  satires,  and  in- 
lined  with  philosophic  secrets  that  opened  down 
'  into  the  bottom  of  a  tomb'  —  that  opened  into 
the  Tower  —  that  opened  on  the  scaffold  and  the 
block." 

I  quote,  likewise,  another  passage,  because  I 
think  the  reader  will  see  in  it  the  noble  earnest- 
ness of  the  author's  character,  and  may  partly 
imagine  the  sacrifices  which  this  research  has  cost 
her :  — 

"  The  great  secret  of  the  Elizabethan  age  did  not 
lie  where  any  superficial  research  could  ever  have 
discovered  it.  It  was  not  left  within  the  range  of 
any  accidental  disclosure.  It  did  not  lie  on  the 
surface  of  any  Elizabethan  document.  The  most 
diligent  explorers  of  these  documents,  in  two  cen- 
turies and  a  quarter,  had  not  found  it.  No  faint- 
est suspicion  of  it  had  ever  crossed  the  mind  of 
the  most  recent,  and  clear-sighted,  and  able  inves- 
tigator of  the  Baconian  remains.  It  was  buried 
in  the  lowest  depths  of  the  lowest  deeps  of  the 
deep  Elizabethan  Art :  that  Art  which  no  plum- 
met, till  now,  has  ever  sounded.  It  was  locked 
with  its  utmost  reach  of  traditionary  cunning.  It 
was  buried  in  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  esoteric 


DELIA   BACON.  291 

Elizabethan  learning.  It  was  tied  with  a  knot 
that  has  passed  the  scrutiny  and  baffled  the  sword 
of  an  old,  suspicious,  dying,  military  government 
—  a  knot  that  none  could  cut  —  a  knot  that  must 
be  untied, 

"  The  great  secret  of  the  Elizabethan  age  was 
inextricably  reserved  by  the  founders  of  a  new 
learning,  the  prophetic  and  more  nobly  gifted 
minds  of  a  new  and  nobler  race  of  men,  for  a  re- 
search that  should  test  the  mind  of  the  discoverer, 
and  frame  and  subordinate  it  to  that  so  sleepless 
and  indomitable  purpose  of  the  prophetic  aspira- 
tion. It  was  *  the  device '  by  which  they  under- 
took to  live  again  in  the  ages  in  which  their 
achievements  and  triumphs  were  forecast,  and  to 
come  forth  and  rule  again,  not  in  one  mind,  not  in 
the  few,  not  in  the  many,  but  in  all.  '  For  there 
is  no  throne  like  that  throne  in  the  thoughts  of 
men,'  which  the  ambition  of  these  men  climbed 
and  compassed. 

^'  The  principal  works  of  the  Elizabethan  Phi- 
losophy, those  in  which  the  new  method  of  learn- 
ing was  practically  applied  to  the  noblest  subjects, 
were  presented  to  the  world  in  the  form  of  AN 
ENIGMA.  It  was  a  form  well  fitted  to  divert  in- 
quiry, and  baffle  even  the  research  of  the  scholar 
for  a  time  ;  but  one  calculated  to  provoke  the  phil- 
osophic curiosity,  and  one  which  would  inevitably 
command  a  research  that  could  end  only  with  the 
true  solution.     That  solution  was  reserved  for  one 


292  DELIA   BACON. 

who  would  recognize,  at  last,  in  the  disguise  of 
the  great  impersonal  teacher,  the  disguise  of  a 
new  learning.  It  waited  for  the  reader  who  would 
observe,  at  last,  those  thick-strewn  scientific  clues, 
those  thick  -  crowding  enigmas,  those  perpetual 
beckonings  from  the  *  theatre '  into  the  judicial 
palace  of  the  mind.  It  was  reserved  for  the  stu- 
dent who  would  recognize,  at  last,  the  mind  that 
was  seeking  so  perseveringly  to  whisper  its  tale  of 
outrage,  and  '  the  secrets  it  was  forbid.'  It  waited 
for  one  who  would  answer,  at  last,  that  philosophic 
challenge,  and  say,  *  Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee  ! '  It 
was  reserved  for  one  who  would  count  years  as 
days,  for  the  love  of  the  truth  it  hid  ;  who  would 
never  turn  back  on  the  long  road  of  initiation, 
though  all  '  THE  IDOLS '  must  be  left  behind  in  its 
stages ;  who  would  never  stop  until  it  stopped  in 
that  new  cave  of  Apollo,  where  the  handwriting 
on  the  wall  spells  anew  the  old  Delphic  motto, 
and  publishes  the  word  that  '  unties  the  spell.' " 

On  this  object,  which  she  conceives  so  loftily, 
the  author  has  bestowed  the  solitary  and  self-sus- 
tained toil  of  many  years.  The  volume  now  be- 
fore the  reader,  together  with  the  historical  dem- 
onstration which  it  presupposes,  is  the  product 
of  a  most  faithful  and  conscientious  labor,  and  a 
truly  heroic  devotion  of  intellect  and  heart.  No 
man  or  woman  has  ever  thought  or  written  more 
sincerely  than  the  author  of  this  book.  She  has 
given   nothing   less   than   her  life    to   the  work. 


DELIA   BACON.  293 

And,  as  if  for  the  greater  trial  of  her  constancy, 
her  theory  was  divulged,  some  time  ago,  in  so  par- 
tial and  unsatisfactory  a  manner  —  with  so  exceed- 
ingly imperfect  a  statement  of  its  claims  —  as  to 
put  her  at  a  great  disadvantage  before  the  world. 
A  single  article  from  her  pen,  purporting  to  be  the 
first  of  a  series,  appeared  in  an  American  Maga- 
zine ;  but  unexpected  obstacles  prevented  the  fur- 
ther publication  in  that  form,  after  enough  had 
been  done  to  assail  the  prejudices  of  the  public, 
but  far  too  little  to  gain  its  sympathy.  Another 
evil  followed.  An  English  writer  (in  a  "  Letter  to 
the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,"  published  within  a  few 
months  past)  has  thought  it  not  inconsistent  with 
the  fair-play,  on  which  his  country  prides  itself,  to 
take  to  himself  this  lady's  theory,  and  favor  the 
public  with  it  as  his  own  original  conception,  with- 
out allusion  to  the  author's  prior  claim.  In  refer- 
ence to  this  pamphlet,  she  generously  says  :  — 

"  This  has  not  been  a  selfish  enterprise.  It  is 
not  a  personal  concern.  It  is  a  discovery  which 
belongs  not  to  an  individual,  and  not  to  a  people. 
Its  fields  are  wide  enough  and  rich  enough  for  us 
all ;  and  he  that  has  no  work,  and  whoso  will,  let 
him  come  and  labor  in  them.  The  field  is  the 
world's;  and  the  world's  work  henceforth  is  in  it. 
So  that  it  be  known  in  its  real  comprehension,  in 
its  true  relations  to  the  weal  of  the  world,  what 
matters  it  ?  So  that  the  truth,  which  is  dearer 
than  all  the  rest  —  which  abides  with  us  when  all 


294  DELIA   BACON. 

others  leave  us,  dearest  then  —  so  that  the  truth, 
which  is  neither  yours  nor  mine,  but  yours  and 
mine,  be  known,  loved,  honored,  emancipated, 
mitred,  crowned,  adored  —  who  loses  anything, 
that  does  not  find  it."  "  And  what  matters  it," 
says  the  philosophic  wisdom,  speaking  in  the  ab- 
stract, "  what  name  it  is  proclaimed  in,  and  what 
letters  of  the  alphabet  we  know  it  by  ?  —  what 
matter  is  it,  so  that  they  spell  the  name  that  is 
good  for  all,  and  good  for  each,"  —  for  that  is  the 
REAL  name  here  ? 

Speaking  on  the  author's  behalf,  however,  I  am 
not  entitled  to  imitate  her  magnanimity;  and, 
therefore,  hope  that  the  writer  of  the  pamphlet 
will  disclaim  any  purpose  of  assuming  to  himself, 
on  the  ground  of  a  slight  and  superficial  perform- 
ance, the  result  which  she  has  attained  at  the  cost 
of  many  toils  and  sacrifices. 

And  now,  at  length,  after  many  delays  and  dis- 
couragements, the  work  comes  forth.  It  had  been 
the  author's  original  purpose  to  publish  it  in  Amer- 
ica ;  for  she  wished  her  own  country  to  have  the 
glory  of  solving  the  enigma  of  those  mighty  dra- 
mas, and  thus  adding  a  new  and  higher  value  to 
the  loftiest  productions  of  the  English  mind.  It 
seemed  to  her  most  fit  and  desirable  that  America 
—  having  received  so  much  from  England,  and  re- 
turned so  little  —  should  do  what  remained  to  be 
done  towards  rendering  this  great  legacy  available, 
as  its  authors  meant  it  to  be,  to  all  future  time. 


DELIA   BACON.  295 

This  purpose  was  frustrated ;  and  it  will  be  seen 
in  what  spirit  she  acquiesces. 

"  The  author  was  forced  to  bring  it  back,  and  con- 
tribute it  to  the  literature  of  the  country  from  which 
it  was  derived,  and  to  which  it  essentially  and  insep- 
arably belongs.  It  was  written,  every  word  of  it,  on 
English  ground,  in  the  midst  of  the  old  familiar 
scenes  and  household  names,  that  even  in  our  nur- 
sery songs  revive  the  dear  ancestral  memories;  those 
'royal  pursuivants'  with  which  our  mother-land 
still  follows  and  re-takes  her  own.  It  was  written 
in  the  land  of  our  old  kings  and  queens,  and  in  the 
land  of  our  own  philosophers  and  poets  also.  It 
was  written  on  the  spot  where  the  works  it  un- 
locks were  written,  and  in  the  perpetual  presence 
of  the  English  mind ;  the  mind  that  spoke  before 
in  the  cultured  few,  and  that  speaks  to-day  in  the 
cultured  many.  And  it  is  now  at  last,  after  so 
long  a  time  —  after  all,  as  it  should  be  —  the  Eng- 
lish press  that  prints  it.  It  is  the  scientific  Eng- 
lish press,  with  those  old  gags  (wherewith  our 
kings  and  queens  sought  to  stop  it,  ere  they  knew 
what  it  was)  champed  asunder,  ground  to  powder, 
and  with  its  last  Elizabethan  shackle  shaken  off, 
that  restores,  '  in  a  better  hour,'  the  torn  and  gar- 
bled science  committed  to  it,  and  gives  back  '  the 
bread  cast  on  its  sure  waters.'  " 

There  remains  little  more  for  me  to  say.  I  am 
not  the  editor  of  this  work ;  nor  can  I  consider 
myself  fairly  entitled  to  the  honor  (which,  if  I 
deserved  it,  I  should  feel  it  to  be  a  very  high  as 


296  DELIA   BACON. 

well  as  a  perilous  one)  of  seeing  my  name  asso- 
ciated with  the  author's  on  the  title  page.  My 
object  has  been  merely  to  speak  a  few  words, 
which  might,  perhaps,  serve  the  purpose  of  plac- 
ing my  countrywoman  upon  a  ground  of  amicable 
understanding  with  the  public.  She  has  a  vast 
preliminary  difficulty  to  encounter.  The  first  feel- 
ing of  every  reader  must  be  one  of  absolute  re- 
pugnance towards  a  person  who  seeks  to  tear  out 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  heart  the  name  which  for  ages 
it  has  held  dearest,  and  to  substitute  another  name, 
or  names,  to  which  the  settled  belief  of  the  world 
has  long  assigned  a  very  different  position.  What 
I  claim  for  this  work  is,  that  the  ability  employed 
in  its  composition  has  been  worthy  of  its  great 
subject,  and  well  employed  for  our  intellectual  in- 
terests, whatever  judgment  the  public  may  pass 
upon  the  question  discussed.  And,  after  listening 
to  the  author's  interpretation  of  the  Plays,  and 
seeing  how  wide  a  scope  she  assigns  to  them,  how 
high  a  purpose,  and  what  richness  of  inner  mean- 
ing, the  thoughtful  reader  will  hardly  return  again 
—  not  wholly,  at  all  events  —  to  the  common  view 
of  them  and  of  their  author.  It  is  for  the  public 
to  say  whether  my  countrywoman  has  proved  her 
theory.  In  the  worst  event,  if  she  has  failed,  her 
failure  will  be  more  honorable  than  most  people's 
triumphs ;  since  it  must  fling  upon  the  old  tomb- 
stone, at  Stratford-on-Avon,  the  noblest  tributary 
wreath  that  has  ever  lain  there. 

Nathaniel  Hawthokne. 


xvm. 

The  reception  which  this  volume  was  to  meet 
from  the  Eiighsh  public  and  English  critics  had 
been,  indeed,  pretty  well  apprehended  in  advance 
by  some  of  those  few  who  were  admitted  to  its 
author's  confidence,  and  were  suffered  to  advise 
her.  Perhaps,  nevertheless,  they  were  right,  these 
men  of  philosophic  insight  and  wide  experience  in 
letters  —  Carlyle,  Emerson,  Hawthorne  —  in  de- 
claring that,  whatever  might  come  of  it,  it  was  a 
work  so  full  of  truth  and  wisdom  that  the  w^orld 
ought  by  no  means  to  be  deprived  of  it.  .  At  any 
rate,  here  at  last  it  was;  and  what  did  in  fact 
come  of  it  Hawthorne  himself  has  told. 

"  Without  prejudice  to  her  literary  ability,  it 
must  be  allowed  that  Miss  Bacon  was  wholly  unfit 
to  prepare  her  own  work  for  publication,  because, 
among  many  other  reasons,  she  was  too  thoroughly 
in  earnest  to  know  what  to  leave  out.  Every  leaf 
and  line  was  sacred,  for  all  had  been  written  under 
so  deep  a  conviction  of  truth  as  to  assume,  in  her 
eyes,  the  aspect  of  inspiration.  A  practised  book- 
maker, with  entire  control  of  her  materials,  would 
have  shaped  out  a  duodecimo  volume  full  of  elo- 
quence   and    ingenious    dissertation,  —  criticisms 


298  DELIA   BACON. 

which  quite  take  the  color  and  pungency  out  of 
other  people's  critical  remarks  on  Shakspeare,  — 
philosophic  truths  which  she  imagined  herself  to 
have  found  at  the  roots  of  his  conceptions,  and 
which  certainly  come  from  no  inconsiderable  depth 
somewhere.  There  was  a  great  amount  of  rub- 
bish, which  any  competent  editor  would  have 
shoveled  out  of  the  way.  But  Miss  Bacon  thrust 
the  whole  bulk  of  inspiration  and  nonsense  into 
the  press  in  a  lump,  and  there  tumbled  out  a 
ponderous  octavo  volume,  which  fell  with  a  dead 
thump  at  the  feet  of  the  public,  and  has  never 
been  picked  up.  A  few  persons  turned  over  one 
or  two  of  the  leaves,  as  it  lay  there,  and  essayed  to 
kick  the  volume  deeper  into  the  mud;  for  they 
were  the  hack  critics  of  the  minor  periodical  press 
in  London,  than  whom,  I  suppose,  though  doubt- 
less excellent  fellows  in  their  way,  there  are  no 
gentlemen  in  the  world  less  sensible  of  any  sanc- 
tity in  a  book,  ot  less  likely  to  recognize  an  au- 
thor's heart  in  it,  or  more  utterly  careless  about 
bruising,  if  they  do  recognize  it.  It  is  their  trade. 
They  could  not  do  otherwise.  I  never  thought  of 
blaming^  them.  It  was  not  for  such  En(]jlishmen  as 
one  of  these  to  get  beyond  the  idea  that  an  assault 
was  meditated  on  England's  greatest  poet.  From 
the  scholars  and  critics  of  her  own  country,  indeed, 
Miss  Bacon  might  have  looked  for  a  worthier  ap- 
preciation, because  many  of  the  best  of  them  have 
higher  cultivation,  and  finer  and  deej)er  literary 


DELIA   BACON.  299 

sensibilities,  than  all  but  the  very  profoundest  and 
brightest  of  Englishmen.  But  they  are  not  a  cour- 
ageous body  of  men ;  they  dare  not  think  a  truth 
that  has  an  odor  of  absurdity,  lest  they  should  feel 
themselves  bound  to  speak  it  out.  If  any  Ameri- 
can ever  wrote  a  word  in  her  behalf,  Miss  Bacon 
never  knew  it,  nor  did  I.  Our  journalists  at  once 
republished  some  of  the  most  brutal  vituperations 
of  the  English  press,  thus  pelting  their  poor  coun- 
trywoman with  stolen  mud,  without  even  waiting 
to  know  whether  the  ignominy  was  deserved. 
And  they  never  have  known  it,  to  this  day,  and 
never  will.  .  .  . 

"  I  believe  that  it  has  been  the  fate  of  this 
remarkable  book  never  to  have  had  more  than 
a  single  reader.  I  myself  am  acquainted  with  it 
only  in  insulated  chapters  and  scattered  pages  and 
paragraphs.  But,  since  my  return  to  America,  a 
young  man  of  genius  and  enthusiasm^  has  assured 
me  that  he  has  positively  read  the  book  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  is  completely  a  convert  to  its 
doctrines.  It  belongs  to  him,  therefore,  and  not 
to  me,  —  whom,  in  almost  the  last  letter  that  I 
received  from  her,  she  declared  unworthy  to  med- 

1  This  "  young  man  "  (it  was  in  1863  that  Hawthorne  was  writ- 
ing) was  Mr.  William  D.  O'Connor,  now  of  the  Life- Saving  Service, 
Washington,  and  author  of  Hamlet''!!  Note-book:  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co.,  1886.  The  task  which  Hawthorne,  in  the  passage  quoted, 
seems  to  lay  upon  him,  failing  strength  has  forced  him  to  abandon. 
Materials,  however,  furnished  to  him  by  Hawthorne  for  such  a  pur- 
pose, he  has  kindly  put  at  my  disposal.  —  [T.  B.] 


300  DELIA   BACON. 

die  with  her  work,  —  it  belongs  surely  to  this  one 
individual,  who  has  done  her  so  much  justice  as  to 
know  what  she  wrote,  to  place  Miss  Bacon  in  her 
due  position  before  the  public  and  posterity."  ^ 

^  Our  Old  Home:  chapter,  "  Recollections  of  a  Gifted  Woman." 


XIX. 

When  this  work  of  hers,  for  which  alone  she 
had  for  years  been  willing  to  live,  was  done  —  and 
failed  —  her  life  was  ended  too. 

Before  this  time  in  all  that  she  wrote  or  did  there 
was  nothing  to  mark  a  disordered  intellect,  unless 
her  disbelief  in  the  accepted  authorship  of  the 
Plays  was  itself  proof  of  insanity.  Even  her  curi- 
ous haunting  of  the  Stratford  church  and  grave 
seems  not  to  have  been  proof  of  derangement,  to 
the  minds  of  the  vicar  and  the  few  other  Stratford 
people  whom  she  had  come  to  know,  or  even  to 
the  marvelous  instinct  of  Hawthorne  himself. 
What  he  says  of  her  in  these  last  days,  indeed,  is 
at  once  so  kind,  so  just,  and  so  wise,  that  it  ought 
to  be  reproduced  fgr  the  mere  value  of  its  judg- 
ment of  her,  even  though  there  appear  in  it  her 
own  phrases  from  her  letters  already  printed  above. 
Nor  can  one  refrain  from  thinking  how  apt  to  the 
genius  of  the  author  of  the  "  Scarlet  Letter  "  must 
have  been  the  scene  which,  out  of  her  own  descrip- 
tion, he  presents  here,  of  the  night  in  the  ancient 
church,  with  the  "  Old  Player's  "  grave  beneath 
her  feet,  and  his  image,  unseen,  looking  down 
upon  her  from  the  darkness.     It  seems  as  if  only 


302  DELIA   BACON. 

the  tender  reverence  which  he  avows  for  the  great 
and  true  soul  which  was  on  the  verge  of  distrac- 
tion could  have  restrained  him  from  making  of  it 
a  chapter  in  a  romance. 

"  Months  before  that  [the  publication  of  the 
book]  happened,  however,  Miss  Bacon  had  taken 
up  her  residence  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  drawn 
thither  by  the  magnetism  of  those  rich  secrets 
which  she  supposed  to  have  been  hidden  by 
Raleigh,  or  Bacon,  or  I  know  not  whom,  in  Shak- 
speare's  grave,  and  protected  there  by  a  curse,  as 
pirates  used  to  bury  their  gold  in  the  guardianship 
of  a  fiend.  She  took  a  humble  lodging  and  began 
to  haunt  the  church  like  a  ghost.  But  she  did  not 
condescend  to  any  stratagem  or  underhand  attempt 
to  violate  the  grave,  which,  had  she  been  capable 
of  admitting  such  an  idea,  might  possibly  have  been 
accomplished  by  the  aid  of  a  re?urrection-man. 
As  her  first  step,  she  made  acquaintance  with  the 
clerk,  and  began  to  sound  him  as  to  the  feasibility 
of  her  enterprise  and  his  own  willingness  to  engage 
in  it.  The  clerk  apparently  listened  with  not  un- 
favorable ears ;  but,  as  his  situation  (which  the 
fees  of  pilgrims,  more  numerous  than  at  any  Cath- 
olic shrine,  render  lucrative)  would  have  been  for- 
feited by  any  malfeasance  in  office,  he  stipulated 
for  liberty  to  consult  the  vicar.  Miss  Bacon  re- 
quested to  tell  her  own  story  to  the  reverend 
gentleman,  and  seems  to  have  been  received  by 


DELIA   BACON.  303 

him  with  the  utmost  kindness,  and  even  to  have 
succeeded  in  making  a  certain  impression  on  his 
mind  as  to  the  desirability  of  the  search.  As  their 
interview  had  been  under  the  seal  of  secrecy,  he 
asked  permission  to  consult  a  friend,  who,  as  Miss 
Bacon  either  found  out  or  surmised,  was  a  practi- 
tioner of  the  law.  What  the  legal  friend  advised 
she  did  not  learn  ;  but  the  negotiation  continued, 
and  certainly  was  never  broken  off  by  an  abso- 
lute refusal  on  the  vicar's  part.  He,  perhaps,  was 
kindly  temporizing  with  our  poor  countrywoman, 
whom  an  Englishman  of  ordinary  mould  would 
have  sent  to  a  lunatic  asylum  at  once.  I  cannot 
help  fancying,  however,  that  her  familiarity  with 
the  events  of  Shakspeare's  life,  and  of  his  death 
and  burial  (of  which  she  would  speak  as  if  she  had 
been  present  at  the  edge  of  the  grave),  and  all  the 
history,  literature  and  personalities  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  together  with  the  prevailing  power  of 
her  own  belief,  and  the  eloquence  with  which  she 
knew  how  to  enforce  it,  had  really  gone  some  little 
way  toward  making  a  convert  of  the  good  clergy- 
man. If  so,  I  honor  him  above  all  the  hierarchy 
of  Enofland. 

"  The  affair  certainly  looked  very  hopeful. 
However  erroneously,  Miss  Bacon  had  understood 
from  the  vicar  that  no  obstacles  would  be  inter- 
posed to  the  investigation,  and  that  he  himself 
would  sanction  it  with  his  presence.  It  was  to 
take    place  after   nightfall ;    and    all    preliminary 


304  DELIA   BACON. 

arrangements  being  made,  the  vicar  and  clerk  pro- 
fessed to  wait  only  her  word  in  order  to  set  about 
lifting  the  awful  stone  from  the  sepulchre.  So,  at 
least,  Miss  Bacon  believed ;  and  as  her  bewilder- 
ment was  entirely  in  her  own  thoughts,  and  never 
disturbed  her  perception  or  accurate  remembrance 
of  external  things,  1  see  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  ex- 
cept it  be  the  tinge  of  absurdity  in  the  fact.  But,  in 
this  apparently  prosperous  state  of  things,  her  own 
convictions  began  to  falter.  A  doubt  stole  into 
her  mind  whether  she  might  not  have  mistaken  the 
depository  and  mode  of  concealment  of  those  his- 
toric treasures  ;  and  after  once  admitting  the  doubt, 
she  was  afraid  to  hazard  the  shock  of  uplifting  the 
stone  and  finding:  nothino;.  She  examined  the  sur- 
face  of  the  gravestone,  and  endeavored,  without 
stirring  it,  to  estimate  whether  it  were  of  such 
thickness  as  to  be  capable  of  containing  the  archives 
of  the  Elizabethan  club.  She  went  over  anew  the 
proofs,  the  clues,  the  enigmas,  the  pregnant  sen- 
tences, which  she  had  discovered  in  Bacon's  letters 
and  elsewhere,  and  now  was  frightened  to  per- 
ceive that  they  did  not  point  so  definitely  to  Shak- 
speare's  tomb  as  she  had  heretofore  supposed. 
There  was  an  unmistakably  distinct  reference  to 
a  tomb,  but  it  might  be  Bacon's,  or  Raleigh's,  or 
Spenser's ;  and  instead  of  the  *  Old  Player,'  as  she 
profanely  called  him,  it  might  be  either  of  those 
three  illustrious  dead,  poet,  warrior,  or  statesman, 
whose  ashes,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  or  the  Tower 


DELIA   BACON.  305 

burial  ground,  or  wherever  they  sleep,  it  was  her 
mission  to  disturb.  It  is  very  possible,  moreover, 
that  her  acute  mind  may  always  have  had  a  lurk- 
ing and.  deeply  latent  distrust  of  its  own  fantasies, 
and  that  this  now  became  strong  enough  to  restrain 
her  from  a  decisive  step. 

"  But  she  continued  to  hover  around  the  church, 
and  seems  to  have  had  full  freedom  of  entrance  in 
the  day  time,  and  special  license  on  one  occasion 
at  least,  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night.  She  went 
thither  with  a  dark-lantern,  which  could  but 
twinkle  like  a  glow-worm  through  the  volume  of 
obscurity  that  filled  the  great  dusky  edifice.  Grop- 
ing her  way  up  the  aisle  and  towards  the  chancel, 
she  sat  down  on  the  elevated  part  of  the  pavement 
above  Shakspeare's  grave.  If  the  divine  poet 
really  wrote  the  inscription  there,  and  cared  as 
much  about  the  quiet  of  his  bones  as  its  depreca- 
tory earnestness  would  imply,  it  was  time  for  those 
crumbling  relics  to  bestir  themselves  under  her 
sacrilegious  feet.  But  they  were  safe.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  disturb  them  ;  though,  I  believe,  she 
looked  narrowly  into  the  crevices  between  Shak- 
speare's and  the  two  adjacent  stones,  and  in  some 
way  satisfied  herself  that  her  single  strength  would 
suffice  to  lift  the  former,  in  case  of  need.  She 
threw  the  feeble  ray  of  her  lantern  up  towards  the 
buvSt,  but  could  not  make  it  visible  beneath  the 
darkness  of  the  vaulted  roof.  Had  she  been  sub- 
ject to  superstitious  terrors,  it  is  impossible  to  con- 


306  DELIA    BACON. 

ceive  of  a  situation  that  could  better  entitle  her  to 
feel  them,  for,  if  Shakspeare's  ghost  would  rise  at 
any  provocation,  it  must  have  shown  itself  then ; 
but  it  is  my  sincere  belief,  that,  if  his  figure  had 
appeared  within  the  scope  of  her  dark -lantern,  in 
his  slashed  doublet  and  gown,  and  with  his  eyes 
bent  on  her  beneath  the  high,  bald  forehead,  just 
as  we  see  him  in  the  bust,  she  would  have  met 
him  fearlessly  and  controverted  his  claims  to  the 
authorship  of  the  plays  to  his  very  face.  She 
had  taught  herself  to  contemn  'Lord  Leicester's 
groom'  (it  was  one  of  her  disdainful  epithets  for 
the  world's  incomparable  poet)  so  thoroughly,  that 
even  his  disembodied  spirit  would  hardly  have 
found  civil  treatment  at  Miss  Bacon's  hands. 

"  Her  vigil,  though  it  appears  to  have  had  no 
definite  object,  continued  far  into  the  night.  Sev- 
eral times  she  heard  a  low  movement  in  the 
aisles :  a  stealth}^,  dubious  footfall  prowling  about 
in  the  darkness,  now  here,  now  there,  among  the 
pillars  and  ancient  tombs,  as  if  some  restless  in- 
habitant of  the  latter  had  crept  forth  to  peep  at 
the  intruder.  By  and  by  the  clerk  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  confessed  that  he  had  been  watch- 
inij;  her  ever  since  she  entered  the  church. 

"  About  this  time  it  was  that  a  strange  sort  of 
weariness  seems  to  have  fallen  upon  her :  her  toil 
was  all  but  done,  her  great  purpose,  as  she  be- 
lieved, on  the  very  point  of  accomplishment,  when 
she  began  to  regret  that  so  stupendous  a  mission 


DELIA   BACON.  307 

had  been  imposed  on  the  fragility  of  a  woman. 
Her  faith  in  the  new  philosophy  was  as  mighty  as 
ever,  and  so  was  her  confidence  in  her  own  ade- 
quate development  of  it,  now  aboiit  to  be  given  to 
the  world  ;  yet  she  wished,  or  fancied  so,  that  it 
might  never  have  been  her  duty  to  achieve  this 
unparalleled  task,  and  to  stagger  feebly  forward 
under  her  immense  burden  of  responsibility  and 
renown.  So  far  as  her  personal  concern  in  the 
matter  went,  she  would  gladly  have  forfeited  the 
reward  of  her  patient  study  and  labor  for  so  many 
years,  her  exile  from  her  country  and  estrange- 
ment from  her  family  and  friends,  her  sacrifice  of 
health  and  all  other  interests  to  this  one  pursuit,  if 
she  could  only  find  herself  free  to  dwell  in  Strat- 
ford and  be  forgotten.  She  liked  the  old  slumbrous 
town,  and  awarded  the  only  praise  that  ever  I 
knew  her  to  bestow  on  Shakspeare,  the  individual 
man,  by  acknowledging  that  his  taste  in  a  residence 
was  good,  and  that  he  knew  how  to  choose  a  suit- 
able retirement  for  a  person  of  shy  but  genial  tem- 
perament. And  at  this  point,  I  cease  to  possess 
the  means  of  tracing  her  vicissitudes  of  feeling  any 
further.  In  consequence  of  some  advice  which  I 
fancied  it  my  duty  to  tender,  as  being  the  only 
confidant  whom  she  now  had  in  the  world,  I  fell 
under  Miss  Bacon's  most  severe  and  passionate 
displeasure,  and  was  cast  off  by  her  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye.  It  was  a  misfortune  to  which 
her  friends  were  always  particularly  liable  ;  but 


308  DELIA   BACON. 

I  think  that  none  of  them  ever  loved,  or  even 
respected,  her  most  ingenuous  and  noble,  but  like- 
wise most  sensitive  and  tumultuous  character,  the 
less  for  it."  ^ 

It  was  on  the  12th  of  June  that  Mr.  David  Rice, 
surgeon  and  Mayor  of  Stratford,  wrote  in  terms  of 
great  kindness  and  respect  for  his  patient,  to  the 
American  consul  at  Liverpool,  asking  for  "  advice 
or  suggestions  "  in  regard  to  an  American  lady 
whom  he  had  seen  that  afternoon.  His  report  was : 
"  She  is  in  a  very  excited  and  unsatisfactory  state, 
especially  mentally,  and  I  think  there  is  much 
reason  to  fear  that  she  will  become  decidedly 
insane."  Hawthorne  instantly  replied,  thanking 
the  surgeon  "  for  your  kind  attention  to  my  coun- 
trywoman "  ;  authorizing  all  suitable  expenditure 
(for  it  was  also  reported  that  her  means  were  ex- 
hausted) that  might  be  necessary  for  her  comfort, 
and  twice  over  promising  to  be  personally  respon- 
sible for  it.  At  the  same  time  he  transmitted  to 
her  brother  in  America  the  news  he  had  received. 

There  was  for  a  few  days  much  improvement  in 
her  condition,  and  '^  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  equilibrium  both  of  her  mental  and  bodily 
health  will  be  happily  restored,  and  at  no  very 
distant  period."  She  was  troubled  to  learn  that 
both  Hawthorne  and  her  brother  had  been  told  of 
her  illness,  yet  grateful  to  hear  of  the  former's 

1  Hawthorne  :  Our  Old  Home. 


DELIA   BACON.  309 

generous  and  instant  response.  To  him  she  sent 
immediately  a  long  letter,  clear,  vigorous,  and 
coherent,  yet  displaying,  for  the  first  time,  halluci- 
nations other  than  that,  if  it  were  one,  concerning 
the  authorship  of  the  Plays.  To  her  brother  she 
wrote  a  shorter  one,  with  no  word  of  complaint, 
and  with  warm  expressions  of  the  old  affection 
which  she  had  thought  was  gone  forever.  "  Hav- 
ing fulfilled  my  work  as  I  thought,  I  have  been 
quietly  waiting  since  the  publication  of  my  book, 
to  be  informed  as  to  the  next  movement,  —  if 
movement  was  indeed  the  word.  I  have  not 
cared  to  know  the  result.  Since  the  day  I  heard 
it  was  published  I  have  made  no  inquiry  on  the 
subject.  ...  I  am  calm  and  happy.  Never  hap- 
pier,—  never  so  happy.  I  do  not  want  to  come 
back  to  America.  I  can  not  come.  I  pay  seven 
shillings  a  week  for  my  rooms  and  it  takes  very 
little  to  keep  me  alive.  I  do  not  want  any  luxuries. 
But  I  think  this  is  the  place  for  me  at  present. 
"  Your  ever  affectionate  sister, 

Delia  Bacon.'* 

Since  the  purpose  of  this  sketch  is  simply  to  fur- 
nish, to  those  who  care  for  it,  accurate  knowledge 
and  the  means  of  judging  justly  about  her,  it  is 
right  not  to  withhold  some  passages  from  the  grate- 
ful answer  which  her  brother  wrote  to  Hawthorne, 
on  receiving  his  announcement  of  her  prostration. 

"  The  crisis  at  which  my  sister's  case  has  arrived, 


310  DELIA   BACON. 

requires  me  to  say,  plainly,  that  in  my  opinion 
her  mind  has  been  '  verging  on  insanity '  for  the 
last  six  years.  She  knows  that  since  1851  I  have 
habitually  distrusted  the  soundness  of  her  judg- 
ment. She  knows  that  I  have  all  along  regarded 
her  darling  theory  as  a  mere  hallucination.  She 
therefore  distrusts  me.  When  she  went  to  Eng- 
land she  was  very  careful  to  conceal  from  me  the 
object  of  her  going  and  the  resources  on  which  she 
depended.  Indeed,  none  of  her  family  friends,  as 
I  understand,  had  the  opportunity  of  helping  her 
in  that  enterprise.  Mr.  Emerson,  I  believe,  fitted 
her  out  with  some  credentials  and  valuable  letters 
of  introduction  —  partly,  I  doubt  not,  in  that  won- 
derful '  good-nature  '  which  is  so  prominent  a  fea- 
ture in  his  character  —  partly,  I  suspect,  in  the 
special  sympathy  which  he  has  in  whatever  is  un- 
belief. .  .  .  My  fear  has  been,  all  along,  that  when- 
ever and  wherever  her  book  might  be  published, 
the  disappointment  of  that  long  and  confident  ex- 
pectation would  be  disastrous  if  not  fatal  to  her." 

For  month  after  month,  notwithstanding  inter- 
mittent lifting  of  the  cloud  which  had  settled 
about  her,  it  became  more  and  more  evident  that 
the  cloud  was  the  darkness  of  night.  There  is  let- 
ter after  letter  of  Hawthorne,  showing  his  unceas- 
ing care  for  the  distracted  woman  whom  he  had 
already  so  much  befriended,  and  who  had  seemed 
to  requite  his  kindness  with  distrust  and  thankless- 
ness.     Down  to  his  surrender  of  the  consulate  and 


DELIA   BACON.  311 

his  departure  from  England  in  October,  his  corre- 
spondence with  her  surgeon  at  Stratford  and  her 
brother  in  America  was  incessant.  He  had  even 
been  able  to  arrange,  difficult  as  such  an  arrange- 
ment must  have  been,  for  her  transportation,  under 
suitable  care,  to  her  native  land ;  but  a  new  access 
of  violent  mania  compelled  the  abandonment  of 
the  plan.  When,  about  October,  he  passed  over  to 
the  continent,  his  brief  and  strange  relation  to  her, 
which  had  served  at  least  to  illustrate  so  exqui- 
sitely the  qualities  of  that  rare  character  which 
sought  nothing  more  earnestly  than  to  withdraw 
itself  from  admiration,  was  wholly  at  an  end. 

When  Hawthorne  was  gone,  there  was  no  longer 
an  American  friend  left  to  her  in  England.  Every 
one  in  Stratford  was  kind  to  her  —  more  kind  even 
than  she  knew.  Even  the  shoemaker's  family, 
with  whom  she  lodged,  and  whom  in  her  increas- 
ing derangement  she  sorely  tried,  were  patient 
and  considerate  as  if  she  were  of  their  own  kindred. 
One  Stratford  family  too,  having  many  American 
acquaintances,  and  who  had  received  her  hospi- 
tably before  this  great  misfortune  came  upon  her, 
seems  to  have  done  what  little  could  be  done  for 
her.  But  the  only  American  who  saw  her  in  Strat- 
ford was  Miss  Maria  Mitchell,  the  eminent  astron- 
omer, who,  being  casually  there  in  October,  visited 
her  and  reported  the  visit  to  the  sick  woman's 
friends.  But  there  was  not  one  of  those  to  whom 
her  sad  condition  brought  the  deepest  distress,  for 


312  DELIA   BACON. 

whom  it  was  possible  to  cross  the  Atlantic  to  her 
relief. 

In  December,  under  the  stress  of  her  heighten- 
ing malady,  she  was  removed  to  an  excellent  pri- 
vate asylum  for  a  small  number  of  insane  persons 
at  Henley-in-Arden, — in  "  the  forest  of  Arden," 
—  eight  miles  from  Stratford.  While  she  was 
there,  Emerson  was  advised  of  her  condition ;  and 
the  terms  in  which,  even  in  this  eclipse  of  her 
intellect  and  after  the  failure  of  her  work,  he 
still  expressed  himself  concerning  her,  are  worth 
preserving. 

Concord,  Mass.,  18  February,  1858. 

Dr.  Leonard  Bacon. 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  just  received  from  Mrs. 
Flower  of  Stratford-on-Avon  the  enclosed  note, 
which  I  hasten  to  forward  to  you.  I  could  heartily 
wish  that  I  had  very  different  news  to  send  yon 
of  a  person  who  has  high  claims  on  me  and  on  all 
of  us  who  love  genius  and  elevation  of  character. 
These  qualities  have  so  shone  in  Miss  Bacon,  that, 
whilst  their  present  eclipse  is  the  greater  calamity, 
it  seems  as  if  the  care  of  her  in  these  present  dis- 
tressing circumstances  ought  to  be  not  at  private, 
but  at  the  public  charge  of  scholars  and  friends 
of  learning  and  truth.  If  I  can  serve  you  in  any 
manner  in  relation  to  her,  you  will  please  to  com- 
mand me.     With  great  respect, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 


DELIA   BACON.  313 

Concord,  25  February  [1858]. 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  received  this  morning  your  note, 
and  I  think  it  proper  to  forward  to  you  also  this 
second  note  from  Mrs.  Flower,  because  it  seems  as 
if  the  apology  it  offers  were  meant  to  you.  It  also 
gives  you  perhaps  later  notices,  if  you  have  not 
yourself  letters  by  the  same  arrival. 

With  great  respect,  yours, 

R.  W.  Emerson. 

Rev.  Dr.  Bacox. 

She  was  not  long  in  "  the  forest  of  Arden."  Yet 
to  withdraw  her  from  its  seclusion,  and  to  restore 
her  at  last,  after  the  five  years  of  her  separation 
from  home  and  friends,  to  her  native  land,  to 
find  there  only  a  grave,  there  seems  to  have  been 
needed  an  incident  as  dramatic  as  many  that  had 
marked  her  life.  There  came  to  Eno-land  late  in 
March,  on  his  rapid  way  homeward  by  what  was 
called  the  "  Overland  Route,"  from  a  two  years* 
cruise  in  an  American  frigate  in  the  China  Seas, 
one  of  the  sons  —  the  one  best  beloved  by  all  who 
knew  him  —  of  her  eldest  brother.  He  was  a 
young  man  not  yet  twenty-two  years  of  age ;  and 
as  he  hurried  in  the  eagerness  of  youthful  home- 
sickness, unwilling  to  spare  an  hour  even  for  the 
delights  of  the  England  which  he  had  never  seen, 
he  remembered  nevertheless  the  relative  whom  he 
had  heard  to  be  somewhere  there,  alone,  but  of 
whose  sickness  and  distraction  he  had  heard  noth- 


314  DELTA   BACON. 

ing.  Finding  that  she  had  been  at  Stratford,  he 
hastened  there,  and  was  shocked  to  learn  where 
she  was,  and  in  what  condition.  Without  opportu- 
nity to  consult  those  who  had  authority  to  act  or 
advise,  the  young  man  ^  assumed  the  responsibility 
which  rested  nowhere  else  in  England.  He  sur- 
rendered the  passage  homeward  already  engaged 
for  himself ;  delayed  his  departure  a  week,  and  took 
with  him,  when  he  embarked  for  home,  the  un- 
happy woman  who  had  known  him  in  childhood, 
and  to  whom,  when  he  appeared  to  her  at  Henley, 
a  thousand  pleasant  recollections  of  her  earlier 
years  came  up  to  dispel  the  hallucinations  which 
had  possessed  her. 

On  the  13th  of  April,  1858,  five  years,  want- 
ing but  a  few  days,  after  she  had  sailed  from  New 
York  upon  her  enthusiastic  quest,  she  reached 
her  native  land.  She  did  not  linger  there  long. 
Her  distraction  was  complete,  and  hopeless ;  so 
complete  that  only  the  care  and  restraint  of  an 
institution  designed  for  the  treatment  of  the  in- 
sane was  adequate  to  control  her  and  to  provide 
for  her  needs.  She  was  brought  very  soon  to  the 
^^  Retreat "  at  that  city  of  Hartford  where  so 
many  years  of  her  childhood  had  been  spent,  and 
there  she  remained  until  the  end. 

Late  in  August,  1859,  there  were  brought  to  her 
bedside  the  two  sisters  and  two  brothers  who  still 

*  Afterward  the  Rev.  George  Blagden  Bacon,  D.  D.,  of  Orange, 
New  Jersey,  who  died  September  15,  1876. 


DELIA    BACON.  315 

survived  of  their  parents'  children.  A  violent  dis- 
ease had  brought  her  down  into  extreme  debility, 
and  its  fatal  termination  was  plainly  at  hand.  For 
a  few  days  the  violence  of  her  mania  was  abated ; 
even  her  hallucinations  seemed  to  be  lifted  from 
her  mind  ;  she  knew  tbose  who  surrounded  her, 
and  received  with  joy  the  evidences  of  their  life- 
long love  for  her,  which  was  no  longer  repelled,  or 
requited  with  suspicion  or  anger.  She  recognized, 
and  said  so,  that  she  had  been  imder  delusions ; 
although,  in  these  solemn  hours  of  meeting  and 
final  parting,  what  some  have  thought  the  great 
delusion  of  her  life  was  neither  spoken  of  nor 
thought  of.  But  the  bitterness  of  her  soul  against 
those  who  had  loved  her  most  and  longest  was  all 
gone,  and  instead  there  was  peace,  and  the  tender 
affection  of  the  early  days  of  hardship  and  strug- 
gle. "  Stronger  by  weakness,"  she  was  able  at  last 
to  see  what  for  years  had  been  dark  to  her :  — 

"  The  soul's  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 
Let  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  Time  had  made." 

Thus  attended,  on  the  second  day  of  September, 
1859,  as  her  brother  then  wTote,  "  she  died,  clearly 
and  calmly  trusting  in  Christ,  and  thankful  to 
escape  from  tribulation  and  enter  into  rest."  In 
the  old  burying-ground  at  New  Haven  she  was 
laid,  in  the  parcel  of  ground  with  her  brother's 
family.  A  cross  of  brown  stone,  set  there  by  some 
of  the  ladies  who  remembered  the  love  and  admi- 
ration with  which  they  had  received  her  instruction 


316  DELIA   BACON. 

in  history,  bears  simply  the  record  of  her  birth  and 
death,  and  the  words  : 

"  So  He  bring  eth  them  to  their  desired  haven" 
No  one,  of    all  that  cared  most  for  her,  could 
wish  to  have  her  judged  of  more  kindly  or  justly 
than  in  the  closing  words  that  Hawthorne  wrote 
of  her  : 

"  What  she  may  have  suffered  before  her  intel- 
lect gave  way,  we  had  better  not  try  to  imagine. 
No  author  had  ever  hoped  so  confidently  as  she ; 
none  ever  failed  more  utterly.  A  superstitious 
fancy  might  suggest  that  the  anathema  on  Shak- 
speare's  tombstone  had  fallen  heavily  on  her  head 
in  requital  of  even  the  unaccomplished  purpose  of 
disturbing  the  dust  beneath,  and  that  the  ^  Old 
Player '  had  kept  so  quietly  in  his  grave,  on  the 
night  of  her  vigil,  because  he  foresaw  how  soon 
and  terribly  he  would  be  avenged.  But  if  that 
benign  spirit  takes  any  care  or  cognizance  of  such 
things  now,  he  has  surely  requited  the  injustice 
that  she  sought  to  do  him  —  the  high  justice  that 
she  really  did  —  by  a  tenderness  of  love  and  pity  of 
which  onl}^  he  could  be  capable.  What  matters  it 
though  she  called  him  by  some  other  name  ?  He 
had  wrought  a  greater  miracle  on  her  than  on  all 
the  world  besides.  This  bewildered  enthusiast  had 
recognized  a  depth  in  the  man  whom  she  decried, 
which  scholars,  critics,  and  learned  societies  de- 
voted to  the  elucidation  of  his  unrivalled  scenes, 
had  never  imagined  to  exist  there.     She  had  paid 


DELIA   BACON.  317 

him  the  loftiest  honor  that  all  these  ages  of  renown 
have  been  able  to  accumulate  upon  his  memory. 
And  when,  not  many  months  after  the  outward 
failure  of  her  lifelong  object,  she  passed  into  the 
better  world,  I  know  not  why  we  should  hesitate 
to  believe  that  the  immortal  poet  may  have  met 
her  on  the  threshold  and  led  her  in,  reassuring 
her  with  friendly  and  comfortable  words,  and 
thanking  her  (yet  with  a  smile  of  gentle  humor  in 
his  eyes  at  the  thought  of  certain  mistaken  specu- 
lations) for  having  interpreted  him  to  mankind  so 
weU."  1 

1  Hawthorne  :  Our  Old  Home. 


INDEX. 


Ancestry,  1-4. 

Arden,  the  Forest  of:  her  asylum 
there,  312;  withdrawn  from  it, 
314. 

Authorship  of  the  plays  :  the  ac- 
cepted opinion  as  to  it  a  harrier  to 
the  true  understanding  of  them, 
136  seqq.  The  question  of  author- 
ship subordinate  in  her  view  to 
that  of  the  contained  philosophy, 
43-4,  174,  179.  Never  attributed 
by  her  to  a  single  writer,  45-6 ; 
153-4;  204. 

Bacon,  Rev.  David,  father  of  Delia, 
born,  4 ;  a  missionary  to  the  In- 
dians, 4-6  ;  colonizes  the  town  of 
Tallmadge,  6-8,  10;  failure  of 
the  enterprise,  9-10 ;  returns  to 
Connecticut  and  dies,  10-11. 

Bacon,  Francis  :  his  philosophy 
found  in  the  plays,  43-46 ;  287- 
292  ;  one  of  the  writers  of  the 
plays,  45-6  ;  153-4 ;  never  be- 
lieved by  her  the  sole  writer,  45  ; 
204. 

Bacon,  Leonard,  biographical  sketch 
of  David  Bacon,  5,  note ;  letters 
to,  from  Delia,  15,  10,  17,  23,  33, 
87,  309.  From  Hawthorne,  229, 
282.  From  Emerson,  102,  312, 
313.  Seeks  to  dissuade  her  from 
entertaining  her  new  ideas,  51, 
248-250.  Letter  from,  to  Haw- 
thorne, 309.      Letter   from,    247. 


His  explanation  of  the  support 
given  her  by  Emerson,  310. 

Bacon,  Joseph,  grandfather  of  Delia, 
3. 

Bacon,  Michael,  the  first  American 
ancestor,  2. 

Beecher,  Catherine,  her  school  at 
Hartford,  11-12;  her  description 
of  Delia  as  a  schoolgirl,  12-14. 

Bennoch,  Francis  :  put  in  charge  of 
the  publication  by  his  friend  Haw- 
thorne, 243,  245-6  ;  his  good-sense, 
tact,  and  diligence  in  directing 
the  work,  277-8,  279. 

"  Bride  of  Fort  Edward,  The,"  20- 
21. 

Buffalo  Creek,  in  1801,  5. 

Cabman,  a  guide  to  London  lodg- 
ings, 159. 

Cambridge  :  her  historical  classes 
there,  28-31.  Its  relations  to  Con- 
cord, 4S. 

Carlyle,  Jane :  letter  from,  72 ;  her 
ill-will  to  ' '  Frederick, ' '  id. 

Carlyle,  Thos.  :  introduction  to, 
from  Emerson,  58 ;  letters  from, 
60,  61,  63,  66,  70,  79,  276,  to 
Emerson,  64,  67,  275.  Letter  to, 
from  Emerson,  78 ;  her  descrip- 
tion of  her  visits  to,  62,  75  ;  he 
describes  her  to  Emerson,  64-5, 
67. 

Death,  315. 


320 


INDEX. 


Dedham,   the   earliest  residence   of 

her  American  ancestors,  2. 
Detroit,  in  1801,  5. 

Elizabethan  coterie  of  men  of  letters, 
45-6:  100;  109-110;  143-149; 
153;   169;  181;  204;  287. 

Emerson,  R.  W. :  first  communica- 
tion with  him,  48.  Letters  from, 
48,  57,  58,  73, 82, 93, 191.  To  Miss 
E.  P.  Peabody,  55.  To  Carlyle, 
78.  To  Leonard  Bacon,  162. 
Letters  to,  50,  51,  57,  68,  77,  88  ; 
from  Carlyle,  64,  67,  275. 

England  :  her  desire  to  go  there,  47 ; 
the  means  provided,  56  ;  the  jour- 
ney accomplished,  59.  She  is 
brought  back  from  there,  314. 

Farrar,  Mrs.  Eliza,  her  account  of 
Delia  Bacon,  28-30.  Receives 
with  distrust  the  earliest  intima- 
tions of  her  skepticism  regarding 
Shakspere,  47.  Letter  to  her, 
159.  Account  of  her  London  life, 
235-8. 

Grote,   George  :    long    conversation 

with,  182,  236. 
Grote,  Mrs.  Hannah:  Sydney  Smith's 

compliment,  84 ;  letter  from,  85. 

Hartford :  her  childhood  there,  11— 
16 ;  Catherine  Beeeher's  school, 
11;  received  into  the  "  Retreat," 
314  ;  last  sickness  and  death 
there,  315. 

Hatfield :  lodges  at,  for  a  month, 
75. 

Hawthorne,  N.  :  consul  at  Liverpool, 

164.  Introduces  herself  to  him, 

165.  His  acceptance  of  the  task 
imposed,  171.  Letters  to  him, 
165,  173,  178,  184,  190,  197,  21.3, 
252,  265,  271,  279.  Letters  from 
him,  171,  178,  183.  188,  196,  211, 


244,  264,  270,  280,  281.  His  visit 
to  her,  216.  His  description  of 
her  appearance,  218-224.  Letters 
from  him  to  Dr.  L.  Bacon,  229, 
282.  His  Preface  to  the  Book, 
285.  His  account  of  the  reception 
given  it,  297-300.  His  unweary- 
ing care  for  her,  308,310-311.  Hia 
last  tribute  to  her,  316. 

Hawthorne,  Mrs.  Sophia :  her  kind- 
ness and  admiration,  225-6,  228, 
232,  243.  Letters  from  her,  225, 
232,  243.  Letters  to  her,  226, 
232,  2oo,  2o8. 

Henley-in-Arden  :  is  taken  to  an 
asylum  there,  312 ;  is  withdrawn 
from  it,  314. 

Henshaw,  Mrs.  Sarah  E.,  her  de- 
scription of  Delia  Bacon,  24-27. 

Historical  Instruction,  20,  23-31,  54. 

Holmes,  Abigail,  wife  of  Joseph 
Bacon,  3,  4. 

Homelessness,  abnormal,  of  her  life, 
32-34. 

Homeric  Poems  :  the  question  of 
their  authorship  compared,  99- 
102;   114. 

Insanity :  the  first  hint  of  its  possi- 
ble approach,  .34  ;  never  became 
amentia,  or  driveled  among  Sortes 
VirgilianfB  and  the  like,  46.  Haw- 
thorne's early  apprehension  of  it, 
229.  Its  evident  approach,  247, 
263.  Medical  report  of  some 
mental  disturbance,  308.  Medi- 
cal hope  of  early  restoration,  id. 
Her  brother's  opinion  that  she 
had  been  verging  upon  it  from 
1851,  310.  It  settles  down  per- 
manently upon  her,  310.  She  is 
taken  to  a  private  asylum  at  Hen- 
ley, 312;  to  the  "Retreat"  at 
Hartford,  314.  The  lifting  of 
the  cloud  before  the  night  closes 
in,  315. 


INDEX. 


321 


Jamaica  (Long  Island),  her  school 
at,  17. 

Lost  Manuscript,  191,  200. 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton :  asks 
leave  of  Carlyle  to  see  a  paper  on 
Shakspere,  61,  63.  A  visit  from, 
236. 

Mitchell,  Maria,  visits  her  at  Strat- 
ford, 311. 

Montaigne  :  her  reading  of,  183,  217. 

Name,  Baptismal :  how  acquired,  8. 

Name,  Family :  gave  no  direction 
to  her  studies  or  theories,  1-2. 

New  Connecticut,  6-10. 

New  Haven :  ' '  Tales  of  the  Puri- 
tans" published  there,  19.  Her 
instruction  of  ladies  there,  27. 
Her  burial,  315. 

Peabody,  Miss  E.  P.,  a  warm  friend, 

54,    164,     166 ;    letter    to,    from 

Emerson,  55. 
Penn  Yan :   her  feeling  in  regard  to 

the  name,  18. 
Perth  Amboy,  her  school  at,  16. 
"  Putnam's  Monthly  "  :   letter  from 

the  publishers,  96  ;  the  Shakspere 

Article,  97. 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter,  the  pioneer  of 
the  New  World,  7  ;  one  of  the 
writers  of  the  plays,  45,  204. 
Her  Life  of  him,  78,  168,  284. 
His  "  History  "  on  her  table,  217. 

Religious  introspection  and  distress, 
14-15. 

St.  Albans:  takes  lodgings  there, 
67  ;  removes  to  Hatfield,  75. 

School-teaching :  at  Southing^ton, 
16;  Perth  Amboy,  16;  Jamaica, 
17. 

Shakspere :  her  earnest  study  of  the 


plays,  35.  Early  questions  as  to 
authorship,  35—41 ;  his  title  open- 
ly disputed,  42 ;  the  philosophy  in 
them  of  more  moment  to  her 
than  the  authorship  of  them,  43- 
46;  her  first  avowal  of  skepti- 
cism, 47-48 ;  the  natural  condi- 
tions of  authorship  of  the  drama 
wanting  in  him,  44,  105.  The 
obscurities  of  his  life  a  real  sup- 
port for  the  theory  of  his  author- 
ship, 109-110. 

Shakspere  Drama :  a  new  force  in 
literature,  44,  104 ;  accepted  opin- 
ion as  to  the  authorship  a  bar- 
rier to  the  true  understanding  of 
the  plays,  136  seqq. ;  the  ques- 
tion of  authorship  unimportant 
except  as  connected  with  the  phi- 
losophy involved  in  them,  43-44, 
174-179.  The  Philosophy  con- 
tained in  it,  44,  287-292. 

Shakspere's  Grave :  her  idea  con- 
cerning its  contents,  220,  223, 
237,  258-262.  Arrangements  with 
the  vicar  of  Stratford,  250-252, 
274.  Her  account  of  her  visit 
to  the  church,  252-5.  She  partly 
gives  over  the  purpose  of  exam- 
ining the  grave,  265. 

Smith,  Wm.  Henry:  his  "  Letter  to 
the  Earl  of  Ellesmere,"  245; 
293-4. 

Southington,  her  school  at,  16. 

Spedding,  James  :  invited  to  meet 
her  at  the  Carlyles' ,  60. 

Spenser,  Edmund  :  one  of  the  writ- 
ers of  the  plays,  45. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  schoolmate 
of  Delia,  and  life-long  friend,  12. 

Stratford-on-Avon  :  her  journey 
thither,  235,  237.  Her  arrival 
and  establishment  there,  238-242. 
A  place  quite  fit  for  Shakspere  to 
live  in,  257,  260.  His  choice  of 
it  the  ground  for  the  only  praise 


322 


INDEX. 


Hawthorne  ever  knew  her  to  be- 
stow on  him,  307. 
Stratford,  Vicar  of:  arrangements 
with,  for  examining  the  tomb, 
250-252,  260-261,  274.  Haw- 
thorne's tribute  to  him,  303. 

Tallmadge,    Delia    Bacon's     birth- 
place, 6-10. 


"  Tales  of  the  Puritans,"  19. 

Western  Reserve,  6-10. 

WiUiams,    T.   S.,  Chief  Justice,  8 ; 

Delia   receives   the  name   of    his 

wife,  id. ;  Delia  a  member  of  his 

family,  11-16. 
Woodstock,     birthplace     of    Delia 

Bacon's  father,  3-4. 


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